


How to Train Your... Parents??

by Areias



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Brother-Sister Relationships, Comedy, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Parent-Child Relationship, Protective Siblings, Sibling Bonding, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-01-06 06:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18383156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areias/pseuds/Areias
Summary: Zephyr and Nuffink somehow travel back in time to the beginning of the first movie.Chaos ensues.





	1. How to find a Cove

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aleteia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleteia/gifts).



> Inspired by [@astridthevalkyrie's thread](https://aleteia-ff.tumblr.com/post/183964344449/how-long-before-the-first) on tumblr, in particular by Aleteia's additions :)

“How much longer do you think we have to walk?” Zephyr asks, hefting her book-bag. She frowns at the surrounding scenery—endless trees, rocks, moss, grass, stretching in silence in every direction. She likes hiking as well as anyone, but they’ve been going at it for an eykt, and would probably be missed soon.

Ahead, her brother hums as he skips across a small stream.

“I’unno,” he replies, in a tone that suggests he doesn’t quite care, either. He consults his crude copy of the map of Old Berk, looking back and forth between the parchment and the landscape. “Hmm. That way!”

Zephyr rolls her eyes as she jumps nimbly over the stream. “Please tell me you’re _sure_ , this time?”

“I am, I am,” he says dismissively.

“Because we’ve passed this stream once already.”

“That was an accident!” He flashes her a lopsided toothy grin, the kind that makes it physically impossible to stay mad at him for too long. “Won’t happen again. Promise.”

Zephyr sighs. “I kind of regret getting that map for you, you know.”

“Hey! It was your—”

“My idea,” she says glumly. “I know. Don’t remind me.”

He laughs and pushes away some branches blocking their path, holding it there until she passes through. Then he lets go, and with a _twang_ the branch snaps back into place.

“We’re close,” he reassures her, gesturing ahead dramatically. “I can feel it in the air!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she snorts, hefting her book-bag with one hand, and thumping him on the head with the other. “Just do your job, map-man, before we end up as lost as Dad’s left leg.”

“Hey, don’t call me map-man!” He brushes her hand off his hair. “I am Nuffink, the Wayfinder!”

Zephyr laughs and gives him a light shove, and he stumbles forward with a light protest before turning back and making a face. “You have the next quarter-eykt, Wayfinder,” she tells him sternly. “After that, we’re heading back for lunch! I could die for some of Dad’s sand-baked crab.”

“You got it, Chief,” he replies confidently, whacking at some weeds next to him with his makeshift walking stick. “Just you wait; it’s _right_ around here, I just know—”

It happens very fast. At first there is a crackling sound, then something breaks under his feet. The next second, Zephyr sees her brother’s eyes grow wide, and his arms shoot out for balance, even as dirt and dead leaves crumble, and he begins to tumble backwards. She doesn’t have time to look down to see what’s happening, but her heart almost races out of her chest, panic and fear and shock all at once. She grabs for him, desperate, but her shove earlier put him a bit too far from her reach, and belatedly she dashes forward, arms outstretched, grasping—

At nothing but air, as he plunges down with the whole shelf of loose dried dirt, a surprised yell escaping his throat.

For a tiny moment she stands, frozen in shock. Then she lunges forward to the edge of the newly-formed cliff.

“Finky!” she screams down into the vast open space. “Finky!”

Apparently they were on the precipice of a giant sunken clearing, its edge hidden by decades of lush vegetation and overgrowth, and now the whole impressive panorama is revealed by the collapse of one of its overhangs. Zephyr could not care less at the moment. Her eyes dart frantically to the cloud of dust at the bottom of the cliff, the aftermath of the landslide, trying to see something, _anything_. It seems an awful long fall. She tears her mind away from that thought.

“Finky!” she screams again, voice high and tight, already close to breaking. “ _Finky!!!_ ”

For a split second only dust swirls, and Zephyr feels like she has just taken a blunt blow to her stomach. She’s more afraid than she has ever been before. Still her eyes scan, not daring to breathe, hoping, hoping—

“M’fine!” his muffled voice calls out from below, and she feels a wave of such dizzying relief she almost thinks she might pass out. “M’fine!” he calls again. Then she hears him cough.

“Hang on!” she yells, and her voice does crack in the end, from the sheer emotional freefall she just experienced. “Are you hurt?” She scans the perimeter, trying to locate a way down.

“I—uh—I don’t think so?” He replies, but immediately lets out a cry of pain, which sends her heart rate sky high again.

Zephyr dashes toward the closest safe descent she could find; a rough gnarly root reaching down the cliff face.

“Is there blood?” she hollers, urgently, as she grabs ahold of the root and half slides, half jumps to the next ledge below. “Finky, is there blood? Is anything broken?”

“No blood!” he replies, coughing. “I dunno if its broken, but no blood!”

She breathes out a small gasp of thanks to whatever god is watching over them today, and leaps yet another ledge down, careful to not let the root take her full weight as her knees bending to absorb the fall. The dust has cleared a bit, and she thinks she can see him, scrawny and sprawled across the top of the whole mess.

A few more maneuvers and she’s down at the bottom of the clearing, or basin, whatever you call it, and she breaks into a sprint. In about five seconds she reaches the location of the landslide, and sees him—clearly, this time—lying on his back, poking at his right foot with a frown.

She has to force herself not to dive into him right then and and squeeze him into a tight hug—she isn’t sure what’s broken and what’s not, after all. Instead she forces herself to calm down, at least superficially, and kneels on a pile of dried leaves next to him.

“Oh, hey, Zeph,” he says, grinning as he notices her. She wants to punch him for daring to _smile_ under the circumstance—does he know how so _worried_ she was??—but seeing him right in front of her, alive, is compensation enough.

Still, as it slowly sinks in that he’s mostly intact, she allows herself to be more than a little miffed. By Thor, sometimes she just wishes he were a little _smarter_ about things. A healthy dose of self-preservation instincts wouldn’t hurt, either.

“Let’s see it,” she orders tersely, gesturing to his injured foot.

He nods and puts his hands under his knees to lift it higher. She nods, breathing a little easier—the boot doesn’t seem to be crooked in a strange angle, and there is indeed no visible red anywhere.

“Keep still,” she warns him. “This might hurt.”

Gingerly she unwraps his boot-straps and begin to pull the thing off him. He tenses, fingers going white on his knees, but otherwise doesn’t make a sound. It takes three tries, but at last she clears the boot over his ankles, and tosses it to the side. Then she peels away his woolen sock—again relieved to note the lack of red—and peers at the scene before her.

“The ankle’s swollen,” she says, tapping the region mentioned. “Can you move it at all?”

He wriggles his toes and flexes the plate of his foot up and down, wincing as he does so. The range of motion is quite narrow, and when she tries to get him to raise it higher, he lets out a yelp and withdraws from her touch.

“Sorry,” she says. She gives his ankle an experimental squeeze, and he yelps again. “Sorry!”

“You’re _definitely_ doing that on purpose,” he mutters glumly, before giving her a sigh. “What’s the verdict, anyway?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s _broken_ ,” she says cautiously. “But it’s most definitely twisted. I’m thinking we wash it by the lake over there, then use some twigs to keep it set until we can get someone to look it over. Come on.”

She positions herself so that his arm is draped over her shoulders. With some effort, they manage to stand up, him leaning on her and hopping on his good foot.

A short while later they finally make it to the small lake. Carefully she helps him sit down at the bank, and with a contented sigh he dips his injured foot in the clear cold waters.

“Reckon we can’t make it back for lunch,” he says. “Sorry about that.”

She socks him lightly on the shoulder. “We’ll figure out what to do later. Just, don’t _do_ that again, alright?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault! I didn’t know it would just _collapse_ , like that.”

“Don’t get cheeky with me,” she huffs, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You could’ve gotten off a _lot_ worse than a sprained ankle.”

“Hehe, maybe,” he concedes, kicking happily, the water sloshing around his foot. “But it all worked out in the end, right?”

Zephyr rolls her eyes. “I don’t see how it did! One, we’re stuck here in this basin, at least until you recover enough to climb; and two, Mom and Dad will be worried sick, and you know how they get when that happens!” She sighs. Their first trip to Old Berk, and already off to such an auspicious start.

He doesn’t seem at all bothered. “It’s not a basin,” he tells her.

“What?” she asks, brows knotting together in a frown. “What are you on about now?”

“It’s not a basin,” he repeats. Then he beams at her, and with a broad sweep of his arms, gestures all around them.

“It’s a Cove!”

* * *

It’s early summer, so the days are still long and warm and lazy. Confined to the Cove with nothing better to do, the two young Haddocks occupy themselves trying to discover all the evidence of their parents’ stories: the scorched grounds next to the old tree where Toothless—or Uncle Toothy, as they sometimes affectionately called him—had nested; the remnants of a wicker fish basket, half-rotted away and long-forgotten; specks of black scales littered on the ground, tarnished by the elements but still remarkably intact.

Well, Zephyr does, anyway. Finky is forced to sulk by the lake, immobilized by his injury.

Despite what she told her brother, Zephyr herself isn’t too worried about their fate. The Cove is bound to be one of the first places their parents search, and even if it’s not, there is shelter, fresh water, and food in the form of lake fish. In the worst case scenario, if their parents just assume they’ve gone off to have fun and don’t bother fetching them (highly unlikely, Zephyr thinks), they can easily survive for a few days until Finky’s foot heals up, and climb their way out of here. The winter snows haven’t set in just yet, and they have a wide array of tools on their persons—flint and steel, knives, her battle-axe, his compass, some rope, and their father’s map, just to name a few.

Idly she wonders if she should set out some fish traps, in case nobody comes for them by dinner time. When she mentions the idea, Finky enthusiastically agrees—probably because it gives him something to do aside from kicking water and drawing in the mud.

Armed with a fresh goal, Zephyr chops down a young tree with her axe, and moves it next to the lake, where the two of them set out debarking the trunk and weaving its fibers into a simple fish cage. They talk as they work; their impressions about Old Berk, what they find surprising (the Sentinel Statues surrounding the harbor are _very_ impressive, both of them agree), what they find underwhelming (the houses are so _flat_ ), but most of all, anything pertaining to dragons.

Of this category there is certainly no lack. Scorch marks on roof tiles, the ubiquitous fire extinguishing contraptions, and basically every aspect of the village designed with dragon use in mind.

And scales! Lots and lots and _lots_ of scales, of all shapes and colors and sizes, practically littered across the village grounds. The siblings share a good laugh when they each confess to pocketing some of the ones they find more exotic.

It happens during the middle of a discussion on fish—the different kinds that are in the lake, whether they’re good to eat and easy to catch, and whether the trap will work. Finky thinks they should make it larger, while Zephyr reasons that most freshwater fishes back on New Berk are relatively small. They’re engaged in idle banter and debate when Finky suddenly stops talking.

“Huh,” he says, and Zephyr can hear the puzzlement in his voice.

She doesn’t look up right away. “What is it?” she asks, too used to her brother’s erratic attention span. He may be able to concentrate on his own projects for several hours at a time, but usually he’s all-too-easily distracted by the smallest things he finds interesting.

“The clouds,” he replies, in a strange half-whisper. “They look… odd.”

“Well, clouds come in all shapes and sizes,” she says, shrugging. “Are you done with your piece?”

He doesn’t give a further answer. Instead he taps her on the arm. Zephyr sighs.

“All right,” she says resignedly as she looks up—and freezes.

The sky, previously cerulean and clear and only populated by the faintest wisps of clouds, now churns with a massive vortex, grey and foreboding, thunderbolts lacing through like Thor himself is shaping and crafting the maelstrom. It is gigantic, taking up their entire view of the firmament, limited as that is by the walls of the Cove. Zephyr isn’t sure where the sun went; it’s still daytime, but the whirling clouds hang low and ponderous over them all.

“Looks like a thunderstorm,” she says grimly. “Take the fish trap; we have to find shelter.”

Looking around, she quickly spots another overhang—this one _rocky_ , since she doesn’t fancy being on the receiving end of a second landslide—and gestures to the space over there.

Finky nods. He grabs her proffered hand and pulls himself up. Even as they stand, the sky cracks with ominous _boom_ , and the first droplets splash cool and prickly on their faces. They hasten to the relative seclusion of the overhang, more like an alcove than anything. A large boulder sits right in front of the whole place, creating a semi-enclosure of sorts, no doubt to be of great comfort when the worst of the deluge comes.

“I’ve never seen a storm just come, like that,” her brother says softly, peeking out from behind the boulder once they’ve both settled into the alcove. When they sailed here just this morning, there was not a whisper of anything remotely like this lurking on the horizon.

Personally, Zephyr also feels rather unnerved. What if the storm lasts for longer than a few hours? They are equipped to survive a few days, yeah, but that’s assuming fair weather, warm temperatures, and dry conditions. They didn’t have time to gather kindling and firewood, either, which means they’re probably in for a good amount of soaking, too, and the hypothermia that comes with that. The worst part is, the rain will surely render any dry kindling material unusable. It’ll probably be quite a while before they see the comforts of fire again.

But she’s his big sister, and it’s her job to be brave. Wordlessly she swallows her worries and trepidations.

“Summer storms come and go very fast,” she explains, forcing an edge of joviality into her tone. “We might get a bit wet and uncomfortable, but it’s no big deal.”

Finky nods, still peering at the sky outside. It might be her imagination, but Zephyr can almost swear that the stormclouds have dropped lower.

Seeing him all restless and twitchy, she grabs his shoulder and pulls him back from the edge of the boulder to a more protected spot, so he would stop staring at the storm.

“We might be in for a wet afternoon,” she tells him. “Best we huddle up.”

For once he doesn’t argue, and they pool their coats and capes together to form a smallish cocoon, which is barely enough to cover the two of them. But it’s toasty, at least, and that counts for a lot in a storm. The pitter patter of rain becomes louder outside, and some splash down, specks of cold on their cheeks and foreheads.

“I’m sorry I twisted my ankle,” he says abruptly, tiny and contrite. She isn’t too used to seeing him like this, and is suddenly reminded that, despite nearing his fifteenth name-day, her brother is still just a kid. Her heart tears a little.

“It’s not your fault,” she says, soothingly. “C’mere.”

She pulls him closer, and slowly he leans against her, his head resting on her shoulder.

“Get some rest,” she murmurs. “Let’s wait out this storm. Mom and Dad will come find us. Promise.”

“Okay,” he says, small, and suddenly they’re four and six years old again. She smiles a little and ruffles his hair.

As the rain tumble down all around them, he dozes off next to her, and she stares at the walls of the alcove, waiting.

* * *

Zephyr wakes up with a start, a dragon’s roar reverberating in her head. She blinks a few times, groggy still, trying to separate dream from reality. She was having quite a nice one, too—about them all journeying to the Hidden World to see her friend and all the other dragons, flying through the sky as they roar out their thrill into the wind.

It takes a moment for her to realize where she is, and then the dream fades, and reality comes rushing back like high tide. They’re in the Cove on Old Berk. Finky twisted his ankle, so they couldn’t get out. A thunderstorm came, so they’re hiding in a small alcove to avoid braving the weather directly.

Her brother is still fast asleep on her shoulder, which is now numb with the weight. Fur coats and capes are strung haphazardly over them both, outer layers dripping with saturated moisture. The inner wool linings, however, remain surprisingly dry—only a general dampness, but not really soaked through.

She adjusts her neck a little, and sighs as a joint pops.

“Euwgh,” she says, as she notices the shoulder of her leather tunic trailing a little with her brother’s drool. She’s about to get him off her shoulder when a roar shatters the silence.

Zephyr freezes, even as Finky jolts awake.

“Wha—?” he mumbles, kicking off the cloak draped over him. “Whe—”

“Shh,” Zephyr hisses, grabbing his arm. Her heart is beating phenomenally fast. “Listen!”

They hold their breaths. Outside, just behind the boulder they’ve taken shelter against, they hear the distinct whoosh of wings, the padding of clawed feet.

 _It_ ** _can’t_** _be_ , Zephyr thinks. _Here, on Old Berk?_

As if to disprove her doubts, there comes a loud thump, the leathery gusts of wings flapping, and once again—impossibly, incredible, wonderfully—an ear-shattering roar.

A dragon’s roar.

The siblings turn to look at each other, eyes wide, sky-blue on forest-green, shining bright with excitement.

“Are we still on Old Berk?” Finky asks, a stupid grin spreading on his face.

“Last I checked!”

“Where d’ya reckon it came from?” Finky says, all signs of sleep already chased from his system. He’s practically bubbling with energy, bouncing on his feet—well, his _foot_ —eager to go out and meet their unexpected guest.

“Dunno,” Zephyr says. “Could be blown off course by that storm. Wait, wait,” she grabs him by the arm as he makes a motion to reveal himself. “We’ve got to be careful. It’s probably a wild one.”

“But they’re friendly! Plus, it’s been decades since the last time anyone fought dragons. Maybe it got lost outside the Hidden World, and needs our help!”

“Any wild animal won’t immediately trust us, Finky. We have to earn it.” She takes a deep breath to calm herself. “Okay. I go first.”

He sputters. “ _What?_ Why!?”

She prods pointedly at his swollen ankle, which earns her a yelp and a glare.

“ _That’s_ why. You can still watch, though.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and scrambles as best he can to the edge of the boulder. Zephyr crouches in a similar fashion, and carefully rounds the corner…

She doesn’t register her brother’s gasp.

She doesn’t even register her own, an explosive puff through her lips.

All she can see, right in front of her, is that sleek, jet-black form, muscles and sinew powerfully knotted, the epitome of grace. It is as impossible a sight as any, and briefly Zephyr wonders if she’s still dreaming. But then the creature roars, pure unbridled might, and that delightful tremor through her body tells her that this is no dream; this is real.

“Night Fury,” she and her brother say, almost simultaneously; a reverent… _exuberant_ whisper.

Zephyr almost forgets how to breathe as she stares. She can tell Finky is doing the same, both of them drinking in every detail of the dragon. It looks at once familiar and foreign, and they trace that shape they both know by heart. They are no strangers to the species—after all, their father’s companion is a Night Fury, and they’ve played on his back and flown on him more times than they could count. They’ve both companioned with one of his offspring.

Their father thinks— _everyone_ thinks—Toothless is the only one left.

Oh, she _cannot_ ** _wait_** to prove them all wrong!

She doesn’t spare any thought to why the dragon is _here_ , on Old Berk of all places—there will be plenty of time for speculation and theories, _later_ , when they get out of this Cove and show their parents what they found. She grins and focuses back on the dragon, trying to pick out details.

This particular individual is smaller than their father’s companion, though not by much, and its overall body structure seems almost completely identical, except for some minor alterations in fin and spine. Overall it seems to be more slender, and a bit skittish, but full of the nascent curiosity present in younger dragons. As they watch, it fires a plasma blast at the far side of the rock face, then paces, before lunging at the lake, no doubt attracted by some movement underwater.

Only then does Zephyr remember to move. Just now she has been utterly transfixed, spellbound by the new Night Fury and all the implications _that_ can hold, but gawping won’t get her anywhere. She lets out a still-disbelieving breath, and takes a small step forward.

The Night Fury’s fluff perks up. It’s still over thirty feet away, its head half-buried in water, but evidently it can hear her.

Zephyr takes another step forward. As Dad always said, gradual is the key. She bends herself low, to appear non-threatening, and checks for any weapons on her person. Her battle-axe she left back in the alcove, so that’s the largest threat gone. She takes yet another step forward, and decides to discard her dagger when the dragon turns around, so as to let it see that gesture of good faith. The dragon’s head snaps out of the water.

“Hey,” she calls out, experimentally, and its jet-black body arches like a house cat. Its head whips around, tail curling defensively around itself, green eyes large and fearful. Even from some distance away, Zephyr can see that its pupils are mere slits, and it is baring its teeth, growling.

“Hey…” she calls out, soothingly. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” She unsheathes her dagger and holds it out; the dragon tenses, a low rumble in its throat, but Zephyr tosses the weapon far away.

Its ruff flattens, and instantly its pupils widen; if not completely wide, then at least much wider than slits. Slowly it retracts its teeth.

“That’s it,” Zephyr says, calm and in control, as she takes step on step until she’s slowly pacing forward, posture low and open-palmed, in the direction of the lake. The dragon tilts its head at her, and she smiles at it.

About three-fourths the way there, she sees it getting anxious again, so she pauses. _Enter a dragon’s personal space only when invited_ , Dad’s words replay themselves in her mind, and she smirks. _Yeah, yeah, Dad, tell me something I don’t know_ , she thinks, as she plops herself onto the ground, half-sitting, half-reclining, arms on the ground.

It is a position that is prone and open, vulnerable to attack, which shows a willingness to trust. Most dragons tend to respond well to this kind of posture, given the correct setting.

And Night Furies are no different.

Zephyr grins as the young dragon gingerly steps closer to her. Its footfalls are soft and delicate, and it warbles curiously as it approaches. Zephyr pretends to pay it no mind, as she knows her stare might frighten it away, skittish as the creatures are, but still her mind’s eye tracks its progress. She sneaks a glance out of her peripheral vision from time to time, to make sure its pupils are still dilated and friendly, and its teeth are retracted.

Only when it gets within about two feet of her does it stop. Zephyr turns with deliberate slowness, so that it fully comprehends her intentions. She smiles when it doesn’t back away—instead it warbles gently, and snorts. Finally she meets its gaze, wide and innocent and emerald green.

“Hey there,” she says softly. She spends a moment appraising it in all its glory, for it is indeed beautiful. Briefly she wonders whether it could be related to Uncle Toothy, for they _do_ seem almost identical even close up.

“I’m going to call him over, alright?” she tells the dragon, who is still studying her. “Finky!” she says, higher than speaking but lower than a shout, so as to not startle her new friend.

The dragon tenses when her brother’s blond fluff emerges from behind the boulder.

“It’s okay,” she whispers to it. “It’s alright.” Then, louder, “Finky, your dagger!”

“Way ahead of ya Zeph!” he replies, tossing the weapon behind him with a flourish. Pushing himself off the boulder with a hand, he then starts to make his way over to them both.

Zephyr can’t help but laugh, for he looks ridiculous hopping on his one good leg. The dragon seems to relax at the sound of her laughter, and she considers the endeavor successful when it shows no signs of aggression.

“He’s my brother,” she explains to the creature. “We’re your friends.”

Of course it doesn’t understand her, but it grumbles something, sounding genuinely intrigued, and a moment later Zephyr feels the ground shake a little as it settles itself down into a nestle.

“Can we fly him?” Finky asks her, high and excited, still several feet away. “Or her?”

“That’s the plan! But we have to get it to trust us more, first.”

The dragon in question peers back and forth between the two siblings, and rumbles out a snort. It has settled close enough for her to reach, but she doesn’t breach its trust by touching it unprovoked. That will come later, she thinks. For now, it’s enough to get it used to their presence.

It takes Finky a few more hops to get to where they are.

“Hi!” he waves to the dragon, beaming. “Wow. You look _just_ like Uncle Toothy!”

“I know!” Zephyr replies. “I wonder if its a sibling, or some cousin.”

The dragon blinks and does a little wriggle. Finky laughs in response, and it seems intrigued by his laughter.

“Can you imagine how _happy_ Dad will be?” he says as he does a final hop and lands next to his sister. “Another Night Fury, and maybe a relative at that!”

“I can see us going straight back to the Hidden World after this,” Zephyr nods. “But first, we have to bond with it some more, at least enough so it’ll carry us.”

“I wonder why he didn’t fly away when he saw us,” he says as she helps him sit down. “You must really like us, huh, Nighty?”

“Nighty?”

“Yeah! It’s a nickname! Until someone companions with him and gives him his _real_ name, at least.”

She rolls her eyes. “You should stop naming things.”

“Why, what’s wrong with Nighty?” He waves again at the dragon, also careful to not touch it with any unexpected movements. “You’re fine with Nighty, right, big guy?”

The dragon warbles and sniffs. Then it adjusts its wings and tail into a more comfortable position, green eyes soft and amicable still.

The siblings freeze.

“Is that why you didn’t fly away?” Zephyr asks softly, after a few seconds.

“You’re more like Uncle Toothy than I thought,” her brother adds, solemn, as they stare at its missing tail-fin. Then he sighs. “It’s even missing on the same side.”

The dragon blinks, uncomprehending. It flicks its gaze toward its broken tail then back at the children, and chuffs.

“We’ll have to get Dad to take a look at this,” Zephyr says. “And build it a new tail, like Uncle Toothy’s.”

Finky nods. “But who could’ve done this to him?”

“The storm, maybe,” she says, frowning. “It _was_ pretty scary. It’d be easy to get hurt flying in that kind of weather.”

She expects a nod or a hum of approval. Instead, her brother stays uncharacteristically quiet, like he did when he noticed the storm clouds earlier today.

“What is it?” she asks. “Something wrong?”

Wordlessly he points to the dragon’s flank. At first she doesn’t see it, but then she tilts her head a little, and sunlight reflects in an odd angle. She gasps.

Three crisscrossing marks adorn the dragon’s otherwise flawless body, the glossy black scales crushed and dull. There is no mistaking what they are. Nothing in nature can produce such markings.

“Is that…?” she begins, knowing the answer.

Fear and anger both flicker in her brother’s green eyes.

“Rope burns,” he says. “Zeph… I think there are dragon trappers on Old Berk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I also have a longer ongoing fic called [Once There Were Dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701988/chapters/42137768), which is set 20 years after HTTYD3, and follows the siblings as they navigate life and face new threats together as a family. Feel free to check it out!


	2. How to kidnap your father

The dragon went off eastward. Hiccup is sure of it.

The afternoon breeze is refreshing, though the woods remain misty at this eykt of day. By the time he trudges past Raven Point, his fur vest is damp with dew, and absently he wrings at its fringes as he makes his way down the rocky landscape.

He doesn’t quite know what drove him to come back here. Surely by now the dragon’s long gone, flown back to its Nest. Maybe it’ll even meet his father, assuming the man has better luck finding the damned place this time round. Hiccup is doubtful, though, and perhaps that’s for the better. As much as they don’t get along… Hiccup would _very_ much prefer Dad alive, and not burnt to crisp by dragonfire.

He sighs.

All morning his conscience gnaws at him. Summer is supposed to be the season of harvest, the season of plenty, but here, in the Archipelago, it’s the season of fire. The warm climate seems to spur on the beasts, and during a particularly bad spell, they may get up to two raids a week. Everyone has heard those tragic tales, of Tribes losing half their stores during summer… which meant losing half their people during winter.

And Sólmánuður, midsummer, is the most dangerous moon of them all.

He knew that. He knew _all_ of that. From the earliest days of his memories, midsummer meant nights spent cowering in the Meade Hall, which became nights spent sharpening in the forge once he got taken on as Gobber’s apprentice. He _knew_ people got hurt. Even died. Granted, that hasn’t happened in recent years, but his own mother…

And yet, yesterday, after coming the closest any Viking has ever come to killing the rarest and most powerful dragon they know of… he _freed_ it.

The boy’s shoulders sag. How long would it be before someone else gets hurt as a consequence? Before someone else gets burnt to a crisp by dragonfire? He’s seen first-hand what a Night Fury can do to their defenses. And in the not-so-distant future, when he hears that high-pitched screech hurtling through the darkness again… he’ll always remember that _he_ freed it. That any destruction, any harm, any… deaths, caused by it—will be on _him_.

All because Hiccup the Useless was too craven to kill a dragon.

He kicks at a pebble on the ground, frustrated and unsure of where to go. In front of him, the odd rocks and trees seem to mock him for his actions. Why’d he come back, if the dragon is gone? To prove a point? Just because it didn’t kill him yesterday—even when Gobber said it would always go for the kill—dragons aren’t suddenly tame housecats. They burn, they maim, they destroy; they’re dangerous.

Plus, what would he do anyway? On the one-in-a-thousand chance the dragon hasn’t already left, it seems a fool’s errand to re-engage. He escaped with his life once—he’s not sure he will again, if he gave the creature another chance. _Dragons are killers_ , he tries to tell himself.

He’s almost about to call it a day and head back to the village when he sees an opening in the rocks ahead, and the glittering reflection of sunlight on water. He squints, feeling the familiar surge of curiosity taking over his actions. It’s a horrible habit of his—Thor knows how much havoc he’s wreaked just by being curious—but he can’t seem to stop himself, no matter how many times he gets in trouble.

He drops himself down a small ledge, and sees the opening more clearly. It’s moss-eaten, clearly never having been explored before, and just wide enough for him to pass through. He shrugs, ducks to avoid a thin trunk hanging across the whole thing, and shimmies past the entryway—

Into a majestic little cove.

Hiccup smiles. It is beautiful, with afternoon sunlight streaming from above, and songbirds fluttering to and fro among the higher trees ringing its precipice. He loves how he can still find places like these, undiscovered by anyone in the village. He breathes in, enjoying the deep and tranquil atmosphere.

“Nighty, don’t you dare—pffft, hahaha, you’re in for it now!”

Hiccup turns his head so abruptly his neck cracks in protest. The voice sounds young—no older than himself, certainly—and playful, with a kind of boyish enthusiasm. Not Tuffnut, not Fishlegs, and definitely not his cousin Snot.

He scrambles to the edge of the ledge he’s on, and peers down.

Instantly he ducks back out of sight, heart racing fast as a bird’s, a surprised yelp barely choked in his throat. He only got a glimpse, but that was enough.

The Night Fury. It’s here. It’s in the lake. Even now Hiccup can hear its movement, the vigorous splashing of water, interspersed with that same, _human_ voice earlier, high and happy.

He feels faint. The dragon hasn’t left. And there’s someone else, not from their village; he’s sure of it.

 _Someone else!_ _Not from their village!_

He can’t help himself. Inch by agonizing inch, throat so tight he can barely breathe and almost sick from how fast his heart is beating, he peeks his head over the edge of the overhang once more.

The sleek black dragon is indeed in the lake, not far from the shore. Its wings are unfurled and gleaming with moisture, and it’s bashing its tail against the surface, creating great sprays which rain down in front of it—onto a golden-haired boy.

A laughing, yelling, sputtering boy.

Hiccup’s mouth drops open. The boy is shirtless—no armor, no weapon, nothing to offer him even an ounce of protection against the murderous beast not three feet away. Currently, he is trying very hard to splash water back at the dragon in turn, a pitiful attempt compared to the shower of lake water pouring onto his torso. A few moments later, Hiccup hears him yell out something like “fine, if you’re not gonna play fair!”, and then, as he watches, the boy dives under the surface… only to emerge on the dragon’s side, hands immediately scratching at the glossy black scales on its neck and flank.

 _Scratching_. Without a single care in the world.

Hiccup’s stomach drops, certain of the bloodshed that will soon follow. It’s been proven, time and time again, how dangerous it is to make close contact with a dragon. There is no _way_ the beast will let the boy live, no matter how friendly it might have appeared. He needs to look away; doesn’t want to witness the death of someone so young and seemingly innocent… but he finds himself morbidly transfixed.

The dragon’s ruff flattens. Just when Hiccup thinks it’s about to snap and lung and sink its teeth into the kid, it lets out a gurgle and a chuff, and—Hiccup feels his eyes widen—tumbles sideways into the shallow water, giving the boy full access to its flanks.

“Ha ha!” the blond figure shouts triumphantly, as he attacks the dragon with unbridled glee. “You like that, Nighty? Huh? Huh?”

The dragon only warbles and wriggles itself into an even more comfortable position, half-submerged, its tail swishing back and forth in joy.

… _Joy?_

Slowly Hiccup breathes in. The dragon warbles some more, before it reaches out its forepaws and scoops the boy, protesting and laughing, onto its chest. Then it points its tail at its chin, as if to say, _scratch here!_ The boy grumbles something about being spoiled, before he complies, and the dragon relaxes, wings lazy and tongue rolling out.

Hiccup feels light-headed, like his body doesn’t hold enough blood for him to process the scene in front of him. The dragon and the boy—they aren’t fighting, or wrestling, or challenging each other.

They’re _playing_ with each other.

Gods. How can this be possible? It’s one thing to find out they didn’t always go for the kill, but _this?_

He shakes his head, still amazed and incredulous. He set out this morning, expecting to find maybe some tracks, some scales, or at most an angry dragon. He certainly didn’t anticipate finding a _friendly_ dragon, playing with a stranger.

Suddenly he realizes he wants to be down there, with the pair—now lounging together in the water and trying to catch fish from the looks of it. It seems almost ridiculous, but Hiccup can’t help but feel a sort of bond… an almost familiar _entanglement_ , with the boy. Maybe it’s because they look quite a bit alike—they’re both skinny and short, for one, and even their faces seem rather similar, though Hiccup’s own is more angular, and the boy’s is rounded and soft.

Plus, he wants to touch the dragon again. And if that kid can do it, why can’t he? Worst comes to worst, he can talk his way out of things. He’s always been quite a good talker, if he kept his sarcasm to himself. The kid seems friendly enough, and can obviously speak Archipelago Norse (they even have the same exact accent!) What can possibly go wrong?

The more Hiccup thinks about it, the faster the idea grows, rolling and rolling like a sailboat in storm, until it’s unstoppable.

 _Yes_ , he decides. He will do it; he will go down to the bottom of the Cove, and try to—

“Do _not_ move,” an ice-cold voice comes from behind him, and a heartbeat later he feels the prickle of sharpened blade, pressing against the side of his neck. “Get up.”

Hiccup’s mind is momentarily blank. He tries and fails to place the voice, and the insistent chill of the weapon at his neck is making it very difficult to think.

“Uh, uhm, uh…”

“I said, get up.”

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, pushing himself off the rock. “Let’s, uh… stay calm, alright?” The voice is decidedly young and feminine, he notices. A girl? But it’s not Astrid or Ruffnut, so he wonders who it could be. Gods, its enough to find one unknown stranger on Berk, popping out of nowhere, and now there’s another?

 _Focus, Hiccup_ , he tells himself. Here he is, a wrong response away from outright decapitation, and yet his mind keeps flying away at the most inconvenient times.

Slowly he gets to his feet. Her weapon doesn’t leave his neck.

“Turn around,” she instructs tersely. “And who the Hel are you?”

“I, uh—I’m—”

“Never mind, don’t answer that. I have zero interest in knowing the names of filthy trappers.” She kicks him the back of his leg, and he yelps. “I said, _turn around_.”

Hiccup decides it’s best to comply, and bites his tongue to keep himself from blurting out some comment about meeting murderous strangers on his own island. Still, he’s a bit miffed, because _does she not see that_ ** _Night Fury_** _down there??_ Between a _live dragon_ and a talking fishbone of a guy, he can’t help but think that, maybe, just maybe, she’s got her priorities a bit wrong.

Shuffling his feet, he turns…

And stares right into the most beautiful person he has ever seen.

The hair is what he notices first, fiery red and tied into a loose braid trailing down her back. Her brows, currently arched and knotted, are the same color, and half-covered by her bangs. She has a smattering of freckles, like he does; though unlike him, they only serve to accentuate her already exquisite features, as an embellishment rather than a detraction.

And her eyes!

They’re sky blue—the kind of blue you get only after heavy rain, the kind of blue that reminds you of beauty and ferocity and independence. He thinks he’s seen that blue somewhere before, though he can’t quite place it just yet. For a moment—a _long_ moment—he simply gapes up at her, before he catches himself, and a faint blush spreads on his cheeks.

She really is _distractingly_ beautiful, not to mention taller and older, too—almost a head taller than he is, and probably of age already—which only serves to make him uneasy. Well, _more_ uneasy, considering the fact he already has a battle-axe pressed to his throat.

“Who do you work for?”

He blinks, still struggling to look her in the face without somehow getting lost in those eyes again. Then the meaning of her questions sink in.

“I— _who?_ What do you mean, who do I work for?”

She presses the tip of her axe into the beginnings of the protrusion in his throat, which bobs as he gulps.

“Don’t play games with me.” She peers at him in disgust. “I know your lot; you’re probably here for your precious Night Fury.” Then she outright… spits. “Scum of Midgard,” she mutters.

Hiccup cocks an eyebrow. “Now _that’s_ a bit uncalled-for. And _my_ Night—okay, I guess that’s fair, since I did come here for—”

“I know what you came here for,” she cuts him off flatly. “You’re not having it back.”

The nonchalance with which the girl acknowledges and discusses the dragon astounds him. It’s a _Night Fury_ , for Thor’s sake, not some lost _sheep!_ But then again, he’s just seen a boy his age play with the creature, so nothing ought to surprise him anymore.

Hiccup sighs and rolls his eyes. “Look, random-axemaiden-threatening-my-life… I didn’t come to have the dragon back, all right? I just…”

“What? You just, _what_ , exactly?” She steps forward, and he is forced to back away. She scoffs. “Tell me, did you guys _honestly_ think this island would be abandoned forever? That my fa—that the _High-Chief_ would possibly let this—” here she gestures to the dragon below them with a sweep of her free arm— “go on… _especially_ here, on his old home?” Her breathtaking features curl themselves into a sneer. “Think again.”

Hiccup sputters. “What? High-Chief? Old home??” He shakes his head, exasperated. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know anything about that? And can you _maybe_ take that axe away? Because it’s kind of really hard to concentrate with—Okay! Okay! Axe stays.”

“And you stay as well,” she orders, tone frigid. “By engaging and trapping dragons for your own gain, you and your group have broken the Wilderwest Treaty as decreed by the High Council of the League, and confirmed by the Stórr-Thing of the Archipelago. You are hereby removed from the protection of the Law, and until justice can be passed on your crimes, I will be holding you custody. Get moving.”

That wholesale… speech—there’s nothing else he can possibly call it—sends Hiccup reeling. He understood every word, taken apart, but together they make no sense. Wilderwest Treaty? High Council? League? Stórr-Thing? He feels dizzy, even as she shoves him toward one edge of the overhang they’re standing on.

And the way she delivered it! For a ridiculous moment, Hiccup is reminded of his own father, meting out justice in the Meade Hall, for _that’s_ the kind of tone he heard just now; cold and high and untouchable, impartial yet powerful, saturated with the confident authority only a ruler—a Chieftain—can possibly possess. He doesn’t know how she does it, but in that moment… he felt actual fear, as if he’d just been dealt an _actual_ sentence, slamming down upon him with the weight of sovereign law.

He stumbles to where she wants him to go, and realizes her intention—a lower ledge can be seen about three feet below them, and another one below that, creating a convenient way down to the floor of the Cove. His mind is still buzzing. Who is she? She’s obviously delusional. And that boy earlier, playing with the dragon; there is no way they don’t know each other. And what’s with her obsession about dragon trapping? It’s all any Tribe can do to survive against the Hel-damned scourge, let alone _trap_ them! Where is she even from, to be so ignorant?

“Zeph?” comes a call. “You’re back?”

Hiccup glances at the lake, just in time to see the golden-haired boy climb out of the water. Beside him, the Night Fury shakes itself dry, sprinkling the soil dark with moisture. The boy laughs as some land on him. “Go dry yourself somewhere else, ya big loony!” Then he squints at them. “Oh! Who’s that with you?”

“A trapper scum I caught snooping around. We might be able to get more information on the whereabouts of the rest of them.” She prods at Hiccup’s back. “Come on. Move.”

Hiccup hops down the ledge, thinking furiously. They speak Archipelago Norse, both with his accent, so they’re obviously Vikings (possibly even from close by). As for clothes, while the boy is only clad in wool britches from the swim, the girl is wearing a curiously familiar assortment of metal, cloth, leather, and furs, fashioned into shoulder plates and capes and belts and tunics. If one ignores the insane nonsense coming out of her mouth, she could almost pass as… Berkian.

Hiccup shakes his head. There’s no use wondering where they’re from. If they’re both as crazy as the girl is beginning to sound, he might not be able to bargain with them for his release. A bitter smile tugs at his lips as he thinks about what might happen in that scenario. For one, it might take the village a whole day to notice his absence, and longer if Gobber doesn’t think to check on him. And second… once they realize, they might not even put in that serious of a search effort anyway. Maybe they’ll just declare him missing, and move on.

Even after all these years, even when he tells himself he should be used to it… the thought still _hurts_.

Hiccup the Unwanted.

He sighs as he drops down to the ground with the girl close behind him, half-wishing the dirt floor would break and swallow him whole. It seems he’s failed at _everything_ lately—he couldn’t kill the dragon, couldn’t stand up to his dad and got roped into dragon training, failed miserably and almost got killed in said training… and ended up getting himself captured.

Four failures in half as many days. Gobber’s voice pipes up in his mind: ‘ _Congratulations, lad, you broke your own record!_ ’

A low rumbling growl yanks him back to the present. Hiccup blinks, and finds himself face to face with the Night Fury, the creature’s green eyes large and unblinking, pupils narrowed.

“Aww, don’t be like that, Nighty. It’s safe! Zeph’s watching him.”

The blond boy from earlier is standing next to the dragon, dressed now in a simple biege tunic and some wool trousers. Right now, he’s scratching just beyond the beast’s flared ruff, motions long and calm and soothing.

Hiccup cannot help but stare in amazement, as the dragon’s pupils slowly dilate, its ruff flattens, and it—he almost wants to rub his eyes—reaches out its tongue… to give the boy a small lick. The boy laughs and wipes the slobber on his tunic without a care. Then he looks up.

And Hiccup finds himself staring into his own eyes.

And not just his eyes— _Dad’s_ eyes, too. _Haddock_ eyes. It’s… uncanny, to say the least, because while the village has no shortage of green-eyed folk, he’s never once encountered someone with their exact shade of green, that clear color halfway between forest-green and emerald-green. He blinks, startled, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice, for he’s already turning to the girl.

“Are you _sure_ he’s a trapper?” the boy asks, and Hiccup realizes (to his amusement) that he can read the lad almost like reading runes. The expression, the gesture, the posture; they’re all as transparent as spring water, leaving no secrets as to their master’s every mood. “He doesn’t _look_ like a trapper to me.”

“I’m not! I’m really not,” Hiccup protests, which earns him a prod in the flank. At least there’s no axe at his throat anymore.

“See? Of course he’s going to deny it,” the girl—Zeph—replies, easy and nonchalant, and Hiccup is astounded when he sees her crack a smile. She can smile! And _gods_ does her smile look incredible. He has to force himself not to stare again.

“I’unno…” the boy frowns. “I mean, Uncle Eret used to be a trapper.” He gestures at Hiccup. “He’s _way_ too scrawny to be one.”

“Wow, _thanks_.”

The words spill out of Hiccup’s mouth before he can stop himself, and he freezes.

“You’re welcome,” the boy shoots back with a lazy lopsided grin, not missing a single beat. Coupled with those Haddock-green eyes, Hiccup is once more assaulted by that uncanny feeling of _entanglement_ that is difficult to place.

Hiccup shakes his head, annoyed. What is with him today? These people are his captors! He shouldn’t be thinking of them in friendly, much less familiar terms. But then again, at the rate things are going, he wouldn’t be surprised if the boy turns out to be his long-lost brother or something.

 _Ha. Wouldn’t_ ** _that_** _be a sight to see?_ he muses, until another jab to his flank causes him to hiss.

“Don’t be fooled,” the girl warns. “He’s a trapper, no question about that. He _specifically_ told me he came here looking for his dragon.”

“For Nighty?” The boy pats the creature, who licks his hand in response. All throughout their exchange, the dragon has been sitting and observing it all with abstract interest. With its pupils wide and curious, it doesn’t look an ounce like the menace Hiccup once thought it to be.

The girl rolls her eyes. “Can we not call it that?”

“What? It’s a good name! Nighty, Nighty,” he chants, giving the dragon some more rubs—which are very well-received, judging from the deep purrs emerging from the creature’s throat. “See? He likes it.”

“It’s terrible.”

Personally, Hiccup thinks ‘Nighty’ is a perfectly respectable name for a Night Fury, so he doesn’t quite understand the girl’s sentiment. But then it dawns on him.

“You guys… _name_ dragons?”

The two teens turn to look at him, and he blushes. They all stare at each other for a few breaths.

The blond boy is the one to break the silence. “Well, yeah? You can’t just call it _Dragon_ or _Night Fury_ all the time, you know. Nighty’s only a temporary name, though, until he can fly again, and we go back—”

“Finky,” the girl warns, and the boy falls silent.

“Er. Sorry, Zeph.”

She sighs. “Go fetch some rope.”

The boy nods, and hobbles away—limping in his right leg, Hiccup notices. The dragon looks back and forth between the boy and the two other humans, before it huffs and scampers after the boy.

The girl observes them for a brief moment, before turning to Hiccup. He doesn’t look at her eyes, for fear of getting sucked into those blue orbs again.

“I don’t understand why you do it,” she says, and Hiccup is surprised to hear a touch of sorrow in her voice. “I mean, you deal with such amazing creatures every day, and all you think about is hurting them, or killing them, or catching and selling them.”

“No, we don’t.” Hiccup shakes his head. “Look, er… Miss? Zeph?”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” she snarls, hefting her battle-axe. “Only my brother is allowed to call me that.”

Hiccup holds up his hands. “Okay! Okay. My point is, you’re wrong about my village. We’re not trappers; I swear. We fight and kill dragons, yeah, but only because we have to.”

“Nobody _has_ to,” she retorts, heated. “There haven’t been dragon raids for almost two decades!”

Hiccup belts out a laughs. “I think you mean ‘for almost two _days_ ’, but close enough.”

The girl narrows her eyes. “There was a dragon raid? Two days ago? _Here?_ ”

Hiccup shrugs. “Eh, you guys probably slept through that one.”

“We only got here yesterday. Plus we didn’t see any signs of it, coming in.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you,” Hiccup remarks drily. “It’s only an _entire destroyed village_ , after all. Very easy to miss, for sure.”

“But where did so many dragons come from?” she says, a prominent crease in her forehead. “There _can’t_ be enough to form a raid.”

“Haha, crazy, right? It’s almost as if there’s a whole Nest somewhere sending out dragons every week!”

“No, that’s impossible. There hasn’t been a Nest around these parts since…” she trails off, deep in thought.

Hiccup is getting a little annoyed. He tries to remind himself that it’s not the best idea to argue with someone so delusional, but somehow he can’t stop his mouth.

“Last I checked, Miss, it’s _our_ island, not yours. I think we would know if—”

“Your island?” she seethes, chest rising and falling dramatically. “ _Your_ island? So not only do you trespass, you have the nerve to _claim_ it, too?” She trembles with rage.

The response was immediate and far above anything he anticipated, but by now Hiccup’s own annoyance is beginning to blossom into anger.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says drily, “were we trespassing? I wasn’t aware.”

“Don’t give me that yaklort,” she snaps. “You know full well that Old Berk—”

“Woah woah, hold up, _Old_ Berk? I know we’ve been here seven generations and all, but don’t go around calling it—”

He is interrupted by a thunderous landing and a torrential flap of wings.

“Thanks, Nighty!” comes the boy’s voice, and the dragon croons in response. A moment later he slides from the Night Fury’s back, a hand on its wing joint for purchase as he lands on the ground. “I brought the rope!” he announces triumphantly, before tossing it to the girl—who Hiccup now knows is his sister. “What’d I miss?”

“Conversations with a lunatic,” the girl mutters darkly. She steps closer. “Finky, come help me tie him up.”

“Okay.” The boy limps over to them, giving Hiccup an apologetic smile. “Sorry, man,” he says as he drags both of Hiccup’s hands behind his back. “I kind of like you, but we can’t have you running off, you know?”

Hiccup sighs. It irks him that he likes the kid, too—likes them both, actually, even after that row he’s just had with the girl. It irks him that, even now, as he feels the rope pull his wrists together, he can’t bring himself to think too ill of them in general.

“So how long did you say you were keeping me, again?” he asks, after they’re done binding his hands.

“As long as we need to,” the girl says, obviously still riled up from their exchange earlier.

“It probably won’t be long,” the boy reassures him. “We’re expecting our pa—er, _people_ , to come fetch us.” He turns to his sister. “So, you really think he’s a trapper?”

“I don’t know,” she replies tersely. “I think he’s crazy, if anything. He was spouting nonsense all this time, saying things about dragon raids, and Nests, and even claiming Old Berk as his island.”

Hiccup sniffs, indignant. “ _You’re_ one to talk. And stop calling it that! It’s not _Old_.”

Her gaze flits over to him, imperious. “Then stop saying it’s your island.”

“But it _is_ our island! We’ve lived here—”

“For seven generations, right? Is that what your parents told you?” She scoffs, disdain dripping off her every gesture. “Well, guess what? They lied. You lot haven’t been here for more than twenty years, guaranteed.”

She says this with such open and easy conviction that Hiccup would have believed her if he didn’t know any better.

“Huh,” the blond boy says, looking back and forth between them two. “I see why you think he’s crazy.”

Hiccup opens his mouth, trying to think of a rebuttal, but he doesn’t even know where to start. Theirs is evidently a systematic delusion so structured and interconnected that it seems impossible for him to debunk. How do you debunk an entire worldview? He shakes his head and kicks at some dirt at his feet, suddenly exhausted.

“I give up,” he declares. He would throw up his hands, but they’re tied right now. “I wish I never came back to find _you_ ,” he adds glumly, nodding at the dragon in a fit of resigned temper. “Then none of this would’ve happened.”

“Oh, that’s tall of you,” the girl sneers. “Maybe none of this would have happened if your people _didn’t capture it_ in the first place. Ever considered that?”

“My village didn’t _capture_ it,” Hiccup sighs, trying to be patient. He feels like they’re going around in a circle. “For the last time, we aren’t trappers; we fight to survive. If my village captured it, they’d probably kill it right away.”

“Spare us the lies,” she snaps, gesturing angrily at the dragon, who is observing their exchange with curious green eyes. “We saw those rope marks.”

Hiccup gulps. “Those… were probably from my bola.” He bites his lower lip, somehow apprehensive for no good reason. “I did… shoot it,” he admits, feeling way more nervous than he ought to. “Out of the air, two nights ago during a raid.”

“Aha! Finally, a confession! See, Finky? I _told_ you he’s a trapper.”

Her brother doesn’t immediately answer, though when he does, his voice is small. “Yeah… I guess he is.”

Hiccup isn’t prepared for the pang of guilt that assaulted him when he heard those words, almost like he betrayed the boy’s trust.

“I wasn’t trying to capture it,” he hastens to clarify, feeling ridiculous for caring so much. “I just—I wanted to prove myself, to my village. I was usually so useless during raids, and I’m small and weak and not like everyone else, and since dragon fighting is everything around my village, I just wanted to make my mark somehow, and just fit in with other kids, you know?”

They’re both staring at him by this point, and belatedly Hiccup realizes what he’s done, and blushes bright red. He hadn’t planned on sharing this much—hadn’t planned on sharing at all, in fact—but words seemed to tumble out of him in a never-ending stream.

“I-I’m sorry,” he mutters sheepishly, and is met with silence.

With a sinking heart, Hiccup can’t help but wonder if he’s somehow made a mess of everything… again.

Because despite their obvious lunacy and their adamant denial of some basic history, these kids have offered him a glimpse of something tantalizingly close… to friendship. Which is ridiculous, of course, and he keeps trying to tell himself that—they’ve tied him up and questioned him, and he is to be their prisoner!—but _still_ he’s unable to shake the feeling of, of _closeness_ , and _entanglement_ , and _bond_. For even with him facing charges of dragon-trapping, which they both obviously find distressing, and even with his hands bound and completely at their mercy, they’ve treated him with courtesy, and conversed with him easily, and joked with him.

That must be what friends are like, Hiccup thinks, although the concept is too fuzzy in his mind for him to be sure—it’s been so long since he’s had a real friend, after all, the pitiful few he’d had during his childhood (Fishlegs and Astrid, mostly, and sometimes Cami when she visited) had long since drifted away. Hiccup doesn’t blame them. They’re… them. And he’s… _Hiccup_.

He shakes his head and chides himself for entertaining the illusion that somehow, _someone_ would want to befriend Hiccup the Useless. Gods, is he really so desperate?

Maybe it’s because of everything that’s been going on in his life, and the recent string of failures. Maybe it bothers him more than he’d ever care to admit. And maybe… he just kind of really needs a friend.

 _Heh_. _Good luck finding one_ , he thinks bitterly.

Then he hears a small, low keen. Frowning, he looks back… and freezes.

The dragon is suddenly less than a feet away from him, its head somehow incredibly massive this up close. The creature’s green eyes are fully open, pupils dilated and calm. It stares at him for a brief second, before chirruping again.

“Uh, uhm,” Hiccup says, not daring to move. “Help? What does it want with me?”

“Relax,” he hears the boy say, an awestruck smile behind his voice. “He’s not gonna hurt you.”

“And how do you know that?” Hiccup asks, still slightly panicked. It doesn’t help that he has no hands he can use. “Uh, uh, it’s getting closer, can you call it off—”

With a light, gentle motion, the dragon closes the gap between them, and rubs its snout against his forehead.

Hiccup can feel its hot breath, feel the softness and sleekness of its scales. He gasps, a small wondrous noise half-stuck in his throat, as shock gives away to awe, and awe to elation.

It’s so warm. And soft. And _beautiful_.

Then the moment ends, and the dragon pulls away, sniffing, before it once again curls up and sits down next to the boy, who is beaming at them both.

“Nighty knows you!” he exclaims, delighted. “But how?”

Hiccup is still in a daze, his heart beating extraordinarily fast.

He touched—no. A _dragon_ touched _him_.

“He must remember me,” he replies absent-mindedly. “I freed him, from the bola. But… _Woah_. Wow. Why… uh, _why_ did it do that?”

“He likes you,” the boy says, matter-of-fact. “Guess you really _did_ free him, huh?”

Hiccup is pretty sure his mouth hasn’t closed yet. The spot where the dragon just touched him still burns on his forehead—so powerful in his sensations that he’s sure it must be glowing. He shakes his head, and again, and blinks once more.

“Wait,” the girl frowns. “You freed him from your own trap?”

“Yeah,” Hiccup says slowly, desperately grasping at the remnants of the sensations of scale on skin, like clinging at a fading dream even as it gradually dissolves, leaving him wistful for more. He stares at the Night Fury, which no longer seems to want to pay him any mind. He wishes he can swap places with the boy, currently leaning on its black scales.

“Why?” Perhaps because of the Night Fury’s display of trust, there is no anger in the girl’s voice, only puzzlement. “Why would you free a dragon you shot down?”

“Because I was a coward,” Hiccup says, shrugging. “I’ve always been one, really.” He laughs, but right now he’s too giddy for the laugh to take on a bitter tone. “Hiccup the Useless, right?”

Now that he’s calmed down, more or less, from the thrilling heights of that close encounter, he finds himself brimming with questions. There are so many to ask! Are all dragons this friendly, or is it only Nighty? Is it possible to ride them and go flying? Is it possible… that humans and dragons can exist in peace?

“Do you… know who that is?”

Hiccup looks up. Two pairs of eyes are on him, a mix between a stare and a glare.

“Uh… what?”

“Do you know who that is?” the girl repeats. She pats her battle-axe. “Normally, what you said just now would be an insult to our Clan, our Tribe, and the League of the Wilderwest, and we would demand an apology, or be forced to defend our honor.”

“… What?” Hiccup says. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow?”

“We’d have to cut off an arm, or something,” her brother says simply, shrugging. “You called him Useless, after all. We can’t just… let that slide, you know.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hiccup says, paling. “You’re going to _cut off my arm?_ Can I ask where the Hel this came from?”

The boy rolls his eyes. “Under normal circumstances! But we don’t think you know what you’re saying.”

“Saying? Saying what?” Hiccup tries to think back to what he’s said. His mouth drops open. “… Useless? Wait… you mean _Hiccup the Useless_?”

The siblings tense a little, then nod.

Hiccup blinks, then frowns. “But… that’s _me_. That’s what my village calls me.”

“Your name is Hiccup?” asks the boy, a strange look on his face.

Hiccup chuckles. “Weird name, I know. Believe me, you’re not the first to have that reaction… but wait till you hear these other kids—”

“Do you know who you’re named after?” the girl cuts in, urgently. She too is sporting a strange look on her face, but Hiccup thinks there is something close to panic beneath her eyes.

“Oh, that’s a lousy thing to do,” her brother grumbles. “For a dragon trapper to name their kid after _him_ …”

The girl nods, but still looks a fair deal more troubled. “I hope it’s just some morbid joke on their part, but…” here her voice drops to a hiss. “Have you noticed his story? How _similar_ it is to the ones _he_ told us? And _remember the shield portrait?_ ”

“Hey, what are you talking about?” Hiccup asks, utterly lost. “I’m right here. And why do you want to know who I’m named after?”

“Just… tell us? Please?”

“A bit late to be bringing out the manners,” Hiccup smirks. But then he catches her eyes, and gulps. “Okay, okay, don’t need to glare like that. Well, if you must know, I’m named after my Great-Grand-Uncle. I guess I’m also to blame; I was tiny when I was born.”

“… And what’s his name? No, scrap that… what’s _your_ name?”

“Uh, is there a reason for this very sudden and oddly alarming interest in my genealogy? Because—”

“Just answer me.”

Hiccup is fairly certain he hears the edge of desperation in her voice this time. He looks once more to the siblings. The boy is still frowning at him, evidently trying to figure something out, but the girl has gone as pale as snow. Hiccup thinks it’s best to humor her—she looks like she’s about to collapse any moment.

“Well, if you say so. But it’s not very user-friendly, just so you know.”

The ghost of a grin plays at the corner of her lips, but is gone the next heartbeat.

“Oh I think I already know,” she says faintly.

“I doubt it. Anyway, I’m Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, the Third to be exact. My Great-Grand-Uncle was the Second.”

The girl nods, numb. Beside her, her brother’s eyes widen in shock.

They turn to look at each other.

“ ** _Lort_** _._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Stórr means Great. A Thing is an assembly. Stórr-Thing means the Great Assembly (The Icelandic Parliament is called the Althing, for example).
> 
> 2\. Lort/Lortr is Old Norse for shit (also similar in Danish / Icelandic / Faroese). It sounds so fun to say!
> 
> 3\. This project started at a bad time… basically (if you follow my other fic Once There Were Dragons you’ll also know this) I have a certification exam coming up, and my writing time will be very limited in the coming 3 months. So this fic will unfortunately be updated very slowly in the coming months, until I’m done with that. Thanks for reading and understanding!
> 
> 4\. Want to join a community of HTTYD fans? Want to fangasm about fics, art, or shitposts? Want to have a server of nice people who you can vent to and discuss things with? Join the A Thing of Vikings Discord server, [HERE!](https://discordapp.com/invite/xVuZfK2)
> 
> 5\. As always, shamelessly plugging my longer fic [Once There Were Dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701988/chapters/42137768). Set 20 years after HTTYD3, Zephyr and Nuffink centric :)


	3. How to spin a story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to Aleteia for her valuable advice regarding the plot and various elements in this story. Thank you also to my wonderful Betas, as always. Enjoy!

“ _Lort_.”

The syllable echoes in the air. In the short silence that follows, the siblings continue to stare at each other.

“Ouch,” says the boy in front of them.

They both jump.

“I mean, I know my name sounds bad,” he clarifies sheepishly, “but I didn’t think it would warrant a swear word.” He gives an awkward chuckle, which is cut abruptly short by a gulp as the siblings turn to stare at him instead.

Finn can see him trying to speak, to crack another joke, but can’t bring himself to care all that much. He feels dizzy— _is_ dizzy. A hundred thousand thoughts seem to flicker in his brain, mixing and matching, trying to merge the two: the frail, timid kid in front of him, and the towering High-Chief in his mind’s eye, fur-caped and with a full beard that tickled when planting kisses. They _can’t_ be the same person, they just can’t—

_Maybe it’s all an elaborate coincidence_ , he thinks, a tad bit desperate. A long-lost cousin who got left behind on Old Berk during the Exodus. It _could_ happen, right?

But oh, who is he kidding? He’s grasping at straws here: the moment the names matched up, he _knew_. The freckles, the hair, the lanky build. The nasally voice, the sarcastic tone, eyes that mirror his own. The arms that, even when tied up, seem to strain against the ropes in a subconscious attempt to gesture. It’s all there, all those details he saw but didn’t notice—unmistakably, fundamentally… _Dad_.

His throat suddenly seems to close. He turns to his sister and opens his mouth.

“Don’t ask me how,” she cuts in, holding up a hand. “I don’t know how.”

“But…” he stammers, “so… he’s really…”

“Oh yes.”

“I mean, you also think—”

“Yup.”

“I figured he’d be taller,” he mutters. “Are you _sure_ we’re not just dreaming?”

The question only earns him a jab on his injured leg.

“Ow!”

“Evidently not,” Zeph quips.

Finn cannot help himself. “But _how?_ ”

Zeph sighs. “I told you Finky, I don’t know how.”

Finn shakes his head, faint. He turns back, only to find emerald eyes squinting at him in puzzlement, foreign yet so incredibly familiar.

“Hey, I don’t know how, either,” their owner says with a shrug. “I guess one day some ancestor of mine decided that Hiccup’s a good name. Vikings, you know?” He grins. “It’s actually not as bad as most of the other kids’. Trust me!”

Finn blinks, momentarily confused, before forcing himself to laugh.

“We’re not talking about your name,” he explains weakly. “We’re talking about, uh…” he trails off.

Gods, what does he even _say?_ _‘Hey, guess what, you’re my dad!_ _And by the way, I’ve always wondered, why did you name me Nuffink?_ ’

Yeah, right. Zeph would probably kill him if he said that (though he has to admit, he _is_ kind of curious).

Still, the fact of the matter remains: this, this _kid_ … will become his—

“So… what were you talking about again?”

Finn gives a start, belatedly remembering they’re still in the middle of a conversation. What _were_ they talking about again? Names? He knows he really has to say something soon, but his mind remains frustratingly blank.

_Come on, Finn, stop being such a nitwit!_ By Thor, he could really use some time alone to let everything sink in. Getting himself to _stop freaking out_ would be a nice bonus—he’s so jittery that it’s very hard to think, and his fa— _the_ _kid’s_ curious gaze is definitely not helping matters.

“Uh, erm,” he stammers, “we were talking about, erm…” He throws his sister a not-so-subtle look: _Help!_

She rolls her eyes, exasperated, but comes to the rescue anyway. “We were talking about a cousin of ours,” she says firmly. “You look a lot like him.” Then, to Finn, “I suppose you can untie him, for starters.”

Finn nods vigorously. “Right!” He springs into action, grateful for the task. His head is still buzzing, so he decides to leave all the thinking to her until he’s had a chance to calm down.

“Woah woah woah, wait just a second,” their captive interjects, doubt etched into his brows. “You guys are _untying_ me? What sort of trickery is this?”

“There’s no trickery. Hurry up, Finky.”

“I find that hard to believe!” the kid protests. “I mean, not that I _like_ being tied up or anything, but a moment ago you were talking about cutting my arm off! Or did you forget that part?”

Finn shuffles guiltily, and opts to concentrate on the knots.

Zeph snorts. “We weren’t serious! Plus, it’s not like we _really_ need rope to stop you; you're obviously not dangerous.”

“What?” the kid sputters, actually looking indignant. “I can be plenty dangerous!”

The siblings look at him blankly.

“Uh-huh,” Zeph says a moment later. “Sure. Very dangerous. You done there, Finky?”

Finn nods. Despite their captive’s skepticism, there’s no real resistance, and he makes short work of the rope, which falls with a thud onto the moss-covered ground.

“Er, what now?” he whispers.

“Hel if I know.” She combs a hand through her bangs. “Actually, you know what?”

He doesn’t have time to ask—a heartbeat later, he yelps, already stumbling sideways, her grip hooked forcefully under his arm.

“Zeph!” he grumbles, struggling to keep pace hopping on his one good leg.

“We need to talk,” she replies tersely. “ _Alone_.”

“Wait, what about me?” the kid shouts from their backs. “Am I free to go?”

“Nope,” Zeph says, showing no signs of slowing. Behind her, Finn hops awkwardly along, trying his best not to trip, and another short distance away the young Night Fury follows them both, curiosity in its green eyes.

The kid makes a noise of disbelief—Finn does a double-take, for that one little syllable sounded almost _exactly_ like Dad—and blurts: “But you untied me!”

Zeph sighs. “Just because we untied you, doesn’t mean—”

Here she stops abruptly, which sends him crashing into her with a disgruntled ‘oof’. Toothless sniffs and stops as well. She takes a deep breath and turns around.

“Alright. Let me rephrase that. You, er—” she visibly winces— “H-Hiccup—”

“Eugh,” Finn shudders, “how can you even _call_ him that?”

“Call me what?” the kid asks, confused. “Hiccup? But that’s my name?”

“Uh, yes, we know,” Zeph says, squeezing out a smile. “Which is why _we’re gonna call you that from now on_.” She fixes her brother with a pointed glare.

Finn groans. “But it’s so _weird!_ ”

Evidently the kid heard that. “It’s okay,” he says to Finn, chuckling. “You can call me what you want. I guess my name’s really that strange to you, huh?”

Despite the smile, Finn recognizes a well-concealed flash of hurt in those green eyes, which sends his stomach into a knot.

He scrambles for a response. “Sorry! I didn’t mean—I mean, your name, I—”

“He didn’t mean it that way,” Zeph finishes for him, then gives him a hard stomp for good measure.

“Ow,” he complains, half-hearted. “That’s my good leg…”

“Just shut up,” she hisses and gestures to the kid, who still looks crestfallen. “Look what you’ve done!”

Finn hangs his head. “I said I’m sorry! I was just really weirded out by, you know… you calling him _that_.”

“Well, what else are we supposed to call him?” she snaps. “ _Dad?_ ”

“Huh?” says their father, looking up. “What dad?”

The siblings cringe, rather violently.

“Yeah,” Finn mutters weakly. “Let’s just call him Hiccup.” He sighs. “Uhm. H-Hiccup?”

The kid is still looking at them. “Hmm?”

Finn rifles a hand through his hair. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of your name or, or imply it’s bad or anything.” Then, with as much sincerity he could muster: “It’s a great name. Honest.”

Hiccup looks a bit taken aback, but a heartbeat later he smiles, this time genuine. “Thanks.”

Finn couldn’t help it—he lets out a toothy grin of his own, almost identical, and for a moment the sunlight is caught between their eyes, forest-green on forest-green, and he can see the warm silhouette of his father shining through, like looking at a sapling and seeing a mighty tree.

“Alright, apology done,” Zeph says, and the moment is gone. “Anyway, Hiccup, we, uh, we’re sorry we tied you up. Also, Finky?” she adds in a whisper, “I think I’m doing the talking from now on.”

He nods sheepishly, just as Hiccup appears to snap out of it. 

“Ah,” the brown-haired boy says, blinking. “Come again?”

“We’re sorry we tied you up,” his sister repeats. “I hope you’ll forgive us.”

“Oh!” Hiccup says, suddenly flustered for some reason—Finn thinks he can even see a blush. “Uh, sure? I mean, there was no harm done, right?”

“Right,” Zeph says. “And I know you have a lot of questions, but my brother and I, we… uh, just got off a shipwreck—”

“We did?”

“ _What_ _did I just say?_ ”

“Let you do the talking.” Finn clasps a hand over his lips. “Sorry.”

Zeph sighs. “Please excuse us; he’s been a bit out of it since the wreck.”

“Uh-huh,” Hiccup says, still red-faced and stuttering. Then he frowns. “Wait, a shipwreck? Were there—”

“No. We… we were the only survivors.”

Finn really has to hand it to her; she actually manages to look devastated. There’s just the right amount of tremor in her voice, and she even drapes an arm across his shoulder to tug him close. Then again, playing the leading role in the past three Snoggletog Pageants probably counted for a lot.

And just as well, for Hiccup is obviously sold.

“I’m so sorry,” he says gently, and Finn rolls his eyes. “What can I do to help? I mean, if you allow me to leave, I can get someone from my village and—”

“Nono, no,” Zeph says quickly. “We’re mostly fine. Just waiting for my brother’s leg to heal up.”

“Are you sure? You guys would be welcome. We could send someone to look for your ship and any other survivors, once my father comes home. Don’t give up!”

“Thank you, but we can manage. Plus, we wouldn’t want to inconvenience your village.” She smiles at him, and his freckled cheeks flush with several shades of pink. “My name’s Zephyr, by the way. And this is Nuffink.”

“Ah,” Hiccup says. “It’s n-nice to finally meet you guys.” He clears his throat and fumbles about a bit, probably trying to hide his embarrassment—he really _is_ quite easy to embarrass, Finn thinks.

“Likewise,” she replies. “Now if you’ll excu—”

“Where are you from?” Hiccup blurts.

Zeph blinks. Her mouth hangs open, like a haddock out of water.

“Uhhh…” she says, “we’re from… uhhh…” She glances at Finn, who shrugs and covers his mouth—she _did_ say to let her do the talking, after all—which turns her glance into a glare. Unfazed, Finn wriggles his brows in Hiccup’s direction—the kid is still looking at her expectantly, waiting for a response.

She huffs indignantly and gives her brother one of her looks (the kind that says I’ll-get-you-later-for-this), before wiping away all expression on her face and wheeling back to Hiccup.

“We’re from Eretville,” she says, deadpan, and Finn finds himself thrown into a sudden coughing fit.

Naturally, Hiccup doesn’t suspect a thing. “Eretville? Can’t say I’ve heard of it before. Uhm, w-where is it?”

“It’s to the southeast,” Zeph says breezily. “It’s a tiny place, I’d be surprised if you _have_ heard of it.”

“Oh, we haven’t really gone in that direction before. We were always more focused on the northwest, because that’s where we think drag… er, never mind.” He shuffles his feet. “So uh, I bet y-you’ve been to loads of places, eh?”

“Actually, no. We don’t travel much.”

“Oh. What brings you here, then?”

That appears to stump her, and she pauses. Just when Finn finally controls his ‘cough’ and is beginning to wonder if she’ll manage to get them out of this one, she lets out a world-weary sigh.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, at once strong and sorrowful. “It’s just, we’ve been through a lot the past couple days, and lost virtually everyone… So these things are difficult to talk about.”

Finn’s cough comes back dramatically, and he barely manages to force himself to half-turn away, rasping for air.

“Aww, Finky,” his sister says sadly, patting him on the back. “Don’t cry. I know it hurts.”

Finn is now fighting for breath, and beginning to think he might die.

“I understand,” Hiccup says, his voice solemn. “My Dad, he was the same way when my Mum was—anyway, he’s a really tough man, but he still cried, so I know these feelings can get to anyone. It’s no shame to cry.”

“Yes, it’s no shame to cry. You hear that, Finky?” Vindictively, she gives him a light tickle, which instantly sends him over.

“Pfft,” he says, and immediately has to clamp his nose so no further noise escapes. Zeph shakes her head.

“I’m so sorry. Would you please give us a moment, Hiccup?”

“Of course,” the boy answers, low. “You sure you don’t want me to go fetch someone?”

“Nah, we can manage. Right, Finky?”

“Pfft,” Finn says, wishing he could kick her into the lake. He gives her the meanest stare he could conjure (without dissolving into laughter), which she meets with a mirthful wink.

Hiccup, on the other hand, remains painfully oblivious. “If you say so,” he says, still plainly concerned. “If there’s anything I or my village can do, just let me know.”

“We’re fine,” Zeph smiles. “Thank you. Plus, from what you told us, your village… doesn’t take too kindly to dragons. I’m worried about what they’ll do to Toothless here.”

“Oh,” Hiccup says, sneaking a glance at the dragon. Then his voice instantly switches to excitement. “Actually I’ve been meaning to ask you about that! All my life I’ve known dragons to be these terrifying beasts, but when I met you guys, and saw you guys play with… Wait… Tooth- _what_? I thought his name was Nighty?”

The dragon, who had been resting about five feet next to them and listening in on the conversation with idle interest, perks up upon hearing the name.

Finn, who is just managing to recover from that horrible bout of laughter, freezes.

_Oops_.

His sister throws him a positively murderous glare.

“No, his name is _Toothless_ ,” she announces. She then turns to the dragon. “Tooth-less, okay? Your name is Toothless.”

Toothless warbles and tilts his head.

“Toothless? Since _when?_ ”

Finn would feel bad for Hiccup if he wasn’t so busy feeling bad for himself—the kid looks utterly confused.

“Tooth-less,” Zeph repeats, ignoring him. “Toothless.”

The dragon shows no sign of comprehension.

“Er,” Hiccup pipes up, “can I just ask—”

“No.”

“But, but that name _makes no sense—_ ”

Finn shakes his head frantically. _Shut up shut up shut up_ , he wills Hiccup, but alas...

“I mean, Nighty has teeth, right?”

Once again Toothless croons in reaction, and Finn feels himself wither.

“Odin help me,” his sister mutters. She gives a great sigh. “You know what? I _really_ need to talk with my brother.” And with that, she is already in stride. “Finky, with me, _now_. Hiccup, can you wait there? Toothless, you too. No, stay, _stay_ —”

Finn looks back to see the Night Fury padding after them as they walk. Zeph waves at him, trying to motion him away, but he assaults her with his big green eyes, and there’s no more to be done.

“… fine, you can come. Gods this is such a mess.”

She throws Finn another dirty glance.

“Finky, just so you know, you are _never_ naming _anything_ , ever again.”

* * *

“Alright, let’s go over this one more time. We were on a trading trip when we got blown off-course by a storm. As far as we know, no one else survived. When did we set sail?”

“A week ago,” Finn says, rolling his eyes. “Which we actually did.”

“And when was the storm?”

“Yesterday,” he intones. “Which it actually was.”

“And who else was on our ship?”

“Our parents,” he drawls. “Which they obviously were.” He tosses a branch onto the pile of twigs and dead leaves they’ve been gathering for the past eighth-eykt or so. “Come on, Zeph, get to the good part already! In fact, why can’t we just make up a completely _new_ cover story, from scratch? That’d be so much fun!”

She gives him a sidelong glance. “And if we did, do you honestly think you can keep yourself from slipping up?”

Finn opens his mouth.

“Are you sure?”

Finn closes his mouth.

“Precisely my point,” Zeph says, smug. She snaps a branch in half against her thigh and adds it to the woodpile. “The fewer details we change, the less likely it’ll be for us to make mistakes.”

He gives a great sigh. “Fine. I guess you’re right.”

“I always am,” she preens jokingly, and he makes a face.

They are currently in a secluded corner of the Cove (where they’re sure Hiccup can’t overhear), discussing their next step. They wanted to go back to the little alcove they used earlier to shelter from the rain, but Toothless insisted on poking his head through its small opening, which almost caused another rockslide, and they had no choice but to talk in the open.

“Hey, why do we need a cover story anyway?” Finn wonders offhandedly. “Why can’t we just tell him who we are?” He nods in the direction of the lake. On the other side of its glittering surface, their father sits on a mossy rock, doodling away in the mud.

Like he often did, he was mostly thinking out loud, and wasn’t really expecting an answer—but then Zeph snorts.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Finky.”

It’s only then that he starts to seriously consider his own proposal.

“Why not, though? I mean, there’s just him.”

“Because he’s _smart_ , which you know as well as I do, and we’ve dropped enough hints already. If we want to keep our identity a secret, and stop him from babbling to other people, we need a cover.”

“But what harm could that do? He’s… family? Kind of? Just think about it! I bet he’ll love it if we told him. Wouldn’t you want to know everything that happens in the future, if you had the chance? Like how you’ll do as Chief, or if Uncle Tuff ever manages to grow a beard?”

She looks like she wants to say something, but he speaks faster and faster, feeling the familiar tendrils of excitement gripping him. The more he thinks about the idea, the better it becomes.

“Or, or we could tell him all about his adventures with Uncle Toothy! Like he told us! We could tell him he’ll be a great hero and the High-Chief and unite the Archipelago, and save everyone from Drago and Grimmel and the Warlords and the Oathbreakers!”

“Finky—” his sister says, but he’s too abuzz with energy to pay attention. Can’t she see how perfect it all is?

“We can also tell him about the Hidden World!” he continues, arms frantically waving and gesturing. “And he can protect it from everyone, and maybe the dragons wouldn’t have to leave! And, and we can tell him about the funny stuff, too, like that story Mum told us, about them flying for the first time?”

“Finky—” his sister says, “I’m not sure—”

“—Oh and the first Yaknog Contest, where he got dunked into a whole barrel of yaknog! Oh my gods, what about that time when Uncle Tuff went around impersonating him for a whole day while he was in the forge, and nobody noticed?”

“Finky—” she tries again, but he beams at her.

“Oh, come on, Zeph! Can you imagine his face? It’ll be hilarious! Or we could—”

“ **Nuffink! Stop!** ”

Finn jumps. His sister is panting, trembling even, and her braids heave with her every breath. There’s something in her eyes, blue and blazing, something that makes him shrink back. Beside him, Toothless warbles with concern.

“Just, stop,” she says again. “Hilarious? Hilarious?” She jabs her finger at his chest. “Is this some kind of a joke to you? Or one of your games?”

He opens his mouth, wanting to say something. No words come.

“We woke up in a different place,” she says, lower but also faster, more urgent. “I don’t know why. I don’t know how. Maybe it’s all an illusion, or some sort of spell. Maybe the gods did this. Maybe we’re not even on Midgard anymore. But whatever this is, we’ve been here two days already. I was a fool not to notice; the Cove is so different, and yesterday when we met Toothless, the ground was dry after such heavy rain.”

She takes a shuddering breath. “Two days. What happens… back home, while we’re gone? What happens to Mum and Dad? What will they think? Have you thought about that?”

Finn shakes his head, a bit sick. The anger in her voice has faded somewhat, but the disappointment that takes its place hits him hard, and he feels naive and young and foolish.

“And what if we never find our way back?” she continues. “What if we stayed here, trapped in this, this world, or time, whatever it is? I don’t know where we are, I don’t know why we’re here, but I’m scared. This isn’t a joke, Finky. I know it’s amazing to have met Da—to have met _Hiccup_ , and trust me, there are so many questions I want to ask him, too, but…”

She exhales, long and exhausted. “... but he’s not Dad. Not _our_ Dad, the one who’ll be looking for us and worrying himself silly. So for now, we just need to focus on getting home. Okay?”

Her voice has softened, but Finn feels wretched still. Toothless seems to sense his distress, and moves his head closer, breath hot and very fishy. The small gesture makes him feel better, if only a little.

“Sorry,” he croaks out.

Zeph scratches Toothless idly on the chin. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She says, reaching out with her other hand to ruffle his hair. “We’re in this together, Finky-poo.”

Her touch and words give him more comfort than he cares to admit. Belatedly he realizes how stupid he’s been, to let the novelty of their situation and his own fascination lower his guard. He’s lucky to have her here, he thinks, to talk for him, reason for him, and lead the way for him; because he would’ve been hopeless on his own. He’s used to following her footsteps, after all.

“Thanks, Zeph,” he mutters.

She laughs. “Woah, where’d that come from?”

He shakes his head, hoping she doesn’t see the blush. “Never mind! Anyway, what should we do next?”

She raises an eyebrow at the forced transition, but mercifully doesn’t tease him further. “We stay put,” she answers simply.

Her words are firm and at all not what he expected. “Stay put?”

“Yup. We stay, here, in the Cove.”

He frowns. “Why? There’s nothing here.”

“On the contrary, there’s the lake, and fish, and stuff we can burn.” She gestures at the woodpile. “Plus, Toothless is here, so we don't even need flint.”

“I meant there’s no _people_ here.”

“There’s us,” she points out. “And Toothless, and Hiccup.”

Finn throws up his hands. “You know what I’m trying to say! We can’t really do anything here. Shouldn’t we be working on getting home, instead of staying here sitting on our bums?”

A smile tugs at her lips. “What do you propose, then?”

“I’unno. But we obviously won’t be getting home by ourselves.”

“And why not?”

“Well, we probably need help!”

“From who?” Her smile hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s turning into a smirk.

“I’unno! Maybe we can try to find out why this happened,” he suggests, before an idea strikes him. “Hey! This whole thing is kinda like a Saga so far, right? So maybe we can get help, like all the heroes did in those stories, from gods and elves and spells and dragons! And then we can…” He trails off and scratches his head.

Zeph snorts. “If you know how to find any of those, by all means please do. I think this is a good time for some supernatural intervention.”

“We _do_ have a dragon handy,” he protests sheepishly, patting Toothless’ snout. The young dragon sniffs and gives his hand a small lick. “That counts for _something_ , right?”

Zeph laughs. “Yeah… I don’t think Toothless will be of much use, especially when he still responds to the wrong name.”

“Fine. But we could still get help from, y’know, _people_ , right? If not for getting home, then at least food and shelter. Why should we stay here?”

She sighs. “Finky, other people can’t help with our problem. Because, as bizarre as this is, there _has_ to be a cause for all this. Not necessarily a reason, you know, but a cause. Some kind of trigger.”

“But earlier when I asked you how it all happened, you said—”

“That I didn’t know. And I still don’t know. But I’ve been thinking.” She leans closer. “When do you reckon we got… transported, for lack of a better word? When did everything start feeling _different?_ Is there an event we can pin down as the cause of all this? Think about it, Finky.”

He does so, and not a heartbeat later, the answer emerges, at once obvious.

“The thunderstorm!”

“Exactly. And I think we need the same scenario to happen in order to go home.”

“So, like… another storm?”

“Not just another storm. We should stay in the same spot too, to be on the safe side. That’s why I said to stay put.”

Finn nods sagely. “I guess that makes sense. Things don’t end well for people who mess with magical rituals.”

“We don’t know that it’s _magic_ ,” his sister says cautiously. “All we know right now is that it happened during the storm, while we were sleeping, and here in the Cove. We just need to recreate those conditions.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. We just met _Hiccup_ , for Thor’s sake. That seems pretty magicky to me.” Then he beams. “Hey, speaking of Thor, maybe _he_ was the one who sent us here, with the thunderstorm and all. It makes perfect sense!”

“It’s a possibility,” she concedes reluctantly. “But it doesn’t matter who, it just matters why.”

“Well, the why part is clearly magic; and if we’re dealing with magical stuff, wouldn’t it be better to get help from people who understand it? Someone from a temple, maybe? Or seers? A gothi? _Our_ Gothi?”

Zeph shakes her head. “The only person we will find here would be the Gothi from this world, and I’m not sure she would be very receptive. According to the Annals, she used to preside over the Dragon Sacrifices!”

Finn‘s face twists in disgust. He had forgotten about that. The Berkian Annals always put him to sleep.

“So,” his sister continues, “let’s just wait out the next few days, until we get another thunderstorm. It’s summer; there shouldn’t be a shortage of them. Sounds fair?”

He doesn’t quite like that idea, because it sounds dreadfully boring, but grudgingly admits that he has nothing better to offer.

“Fine. So what do we do with Hiccup, then?” he asks, gesturing at the boy, who had left the lakeside and was busy marking things down in his sketchbook. “We can't keep him here with us while we wait.”

Zeph shrugs. “I guess he can leave—after we make sure he doesn’t tell the village about Toothless. You’ve seen the old Book of Dragons in our attic. You should know how things are between Vikings and dragons before Dad changed it all.”

Finn thinks back to the pages in that heavyset tome, fraying at its edges. One of the most-repeated phrases in the whole thing was _‘kill on sight’_ , which pretty much sums up the attitude of his ancestors when dealing with dragons. He shudders.

“Yeah… good idea.” He turns to give the dragon a playful tug on the corners of the mouth. “Cause we don’t want you hurt, don’t we, Toothy?”

Toothless chuffs, sticks out a warm pink tongue, and proceeds to deposit a large dollop of sticky spittle all over his face. He laughs and flings the drool at Zeph, who hops nimbly away.

“Let’s get back to our cover story,” she says, smiling at their antics. “It’s almost supper time, and I don’t think Hiccup would want to spend the night here. The sooner we make up this stuff, the sooner we can let him leave.”

“As you wish, Zephyr, Daughter of Eret.” He makes a face. “Eugh, that sounds _so_ strange.”

“You’ll just have to deal with it, Son of Eret.” She giggles. “Don’t worry, Uncle Eret will forgive us.”

“It’s just… you could’ve chosen literally any other name!”

“Not really! Uncle Eret is the only Councilor Dad hasn’t met already; can you imagine what would happen if I told him we were Jorgensons, or Thorstons, or Ingermans? He’d want to introduce us to the others, and _then_ what would we do?”

“Okay, okay,” Finn says, holding up his hands. “You have a point. But Eretville? Seriously? And you say _I_ come up with bad names.”

She flings a handful of dried leaves at him. “I had to think fast, okay? As for naming, at least I didn’t come up with you-know-what.”

He pokes at a piece of wood they chopped up the day before, disgruntled. “Well, how was I to know he’d turn out to be Toothless? You should’ve said something, Uncle Toothy,” he adds to the dragon, who is lazily inspecting a leaf that has gotten on the tip of his nose.

“You still shouldn’t have just gone and _named_ him,” Zeph retorts, giving the young Fury a rub on his chin. “Honestly, what made you think Nighty—”

Toothless, previously drowsy and content and enjoying the scratches, raises his head at the name, purring in question.

Zeph winces. “My bad. Ugh, _that’s_ going to take some time to sink in. I guess we’re done with this anyway. All yours, Toothy.” She gestures a few times between the dragon and the woodpile, before Toothless gets it. He gurgles; a blue-white glow begins to emanate from his open mouth, and a second later a tiny burst of flame shoots out and lands in the middle of the pile. It takes hardly a heartbeat for the whole thing to catch, and after some prodding to adjust the position of the logs, they soon have a nice medium-sized campfire.

“Good job, Toothless!” Finn says, giving the dragon another nice scratch. Toothless snorts in appreciation, repays the gesture with a small lick, and goes to settle down near the flames, looking pleased with himself. Finn chuckles. He hops over to a rock-covered pit they made earlier, where half a dozen lakefish thrashes in the shallow water. He grabs two by their tails. “Hey Zeph, are we done with our cover story? Cause we should invite Hiccup over for supper.”

“Well, most of the stuff we’ve already gone over,” she shrugs. “You just need to remember which details we’re not changing, and which ones we’re actually making up.” Catching the fish he tossed at her, she quickly stuns it with a slap and goes to work descaling their supper. “For example, what do we say if Hiccup asks us why we’re so familiar with dragons?”

“Our village can train them,” he says, remembering what they’d agreed on earlier. He tosses the other fish to Toothless, who snatches it out of the air, then grabs another two from the pit—one for him, one for Hiccup. “We can even show him some tricks if he wants to learn.”

“Mhm. And what about Toothless? What if he asks why we’re so friendly with Toothless?”

Finn grins. “We tell him that our Dad is friends with a Night Fury called Toothless. Easy. And true, too!” He makes his way back to the fire and joins his sister in the preparations.

She nods. “Good. Now, final question: what do we tell him when he leaves to go back to the village?”

“That he should keep everything a secret, especially Toothless, and that we—”

Here he pauses, and thinks, and stands up. His stomach sinks.

“Go on?” Zeph prompts, then looks up at the sudden movement. “Finky?” she nudges him with her foot. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He points to Toothless—who has already finished the fish and has gone over to the pit in search for more—then looks back at her, dismayed. He gestures at the Cove all around them.

His sister frowns. “Huh? I don’t get it. Talk to me, Finky.”

“We can’t go back,” he croaks out. “Not yet.”

“What? What are you on about?”

“We can’t go back _home_. We have to get to the village.”

“What do you mean? I thought I told you, we need to focus on getting home, why—”

“Because Toothless!” Finn all but yells. “He can’t fly; not yet, not until Da-Hiccup builds him his tail. He’s trapped in the Cove, Zeph.” His voice is tight. “If we go back to our world… he might die.”

She frowns. “No, that’s ridiculous. He didn’t die in _our_ world, when Dad got to him all those years ago, so why would he die in this one? Hiccup is here in this world; we can entrust Toothless to him, and everything will be fine.”

Finn shakes his head vehemently. “How can you _know_ that? You said it yourself: the worlds are different. We’re here in this world, so things _must_ have played out differently than it had in our world, already.” He gestures, at everything and nothing, trying to convey his thoughts. “Maybe in this world Hiccup will never think to build a tail. Maybe in this world he will kill a dragon in dragon training and never come back to the Cove. For all we know, he might never even become a rider, and everyone dies fighting the Red Death!”

“What?” Zeph laughs. “How could he _not_ become a dragon rider? It’s… part of him. His soul!” She grins. “You know what Mum always says: flying and dragon-riding are woven into his fate by the Nornir!” Her voice turns gentle. “Finky, this isn’t our world. This Toothless isn’t Dad’s Toothless; isn’t _our_ Toothless, just like how Hiccup isn’t _our_ Dad. We need to get back to our Dad, and our Toothless, and Sesame and Skyspear, too. I explained it to you earlier, remember?”

For a blink’s time Finn is angry; she’s usually so smart, so why doesn’t she _understand?_

“If the worlds are different,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, “then the Nornir may have woven a different fate for Hiccup than they did for Dad. Even if it were the same fate, we may have messed that up just by being here!” He reaches out and runs a hand down Toothless’ sleek black tail, stopping at the missing fin. He turns to his sister. “I want to stay and build the tail for him, before we leave. I just want to make sure he’ll be okay, and Hiccup too, and everyone else. Please, Zeph.”

She sighs. “Finky, you can’t just assume that. Hiccup is still… you know, how Dad once was, the Dad who befriended Toothless all on his own. As for Toothless… like I said, he isn’t _our_ Toothless. He’s Hiccup’s.”

Finn shakes his head. “He might not be our Toothless, Zeph, but he’s… Toothless. He has a broken tail. He needs our help.” He purses his lips. “I want to stay and help him.”

She looks at him long and deep, and that’s when he knows she will relent. He’s usually happy to follow her lead, but in these rare cases, when he is absolutely certain what he wants, he knows she can’t stop him.

After what seems like an eykt, she gives him a small nod.

“Alright, Nuffink. We’ll stay. We’ll help build his tail. And _then_ we’ll leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. I have seen Homecoming, and it is adorable! That being said, I don’t consider Homecoming completely canon for a variety of reasons, so I’m not incorporating most of its plot, and only using settings-related elements (info about the siblings, the Nightlights, the tradition of the Snoggletog Pageant, etc.)
>   2. A gothi is a seer/priest of some sort in Norse paganism. The role is sometimes secular and interchangeable with the concept of a Chieftain.
>   3. Sesame and Skyspear are my names for the Nightlights. Sesame is the white one, and Skyspear is the white-nosed one. More about this HC can be found on [my tumblr here](https://saieras.tumblr.com/post/183324430331/names-of-nightlights-so-ive-seen-a-few-of) (which also includes what I think Toothless' dragon names might be).
>   4. The Nornir are giantesses in Norse mythology, in charge of shaping people’s fate and destinies. In particular, the three main Nornir sit by the world tree and weave threads of fate. Other lesser Nornir may visit humans and alter their fates accordingly, and they may be present at a person’s birth and death.
> 



	4. How to raise suspicion

Hiccup lets out a contented sigh as he takes another bite of his meal.

He never knew lakefish could taste this good. Fat sizzling and skin crisp with faint hints of smoke, it's a far cry from the usual bland fair prepared in the Meade Hall, the meat soft and pulpy from boiling for too long. Or maybe it's because he hasn't had anything to eat since the daymeal this morning. Still, he surprises himself when he looks down to find only fish bone remaining in his hands.

"You want another?" asks the boy—Finn, as he told Hiccup to call him—nodding at a mud-encrusted shape, half-buried in the piping hot ash beside their fire. "You can have half of mine. I'm not that hungry."

Hiccup blushes. "Nah, I'm good. I just—we don't bake fish like this. We either salt them or roast them or boil them in soup. Who taught you to cook?"

Finn looks at him weirdly. "Our dad did."

Hiccup grins. "Mine did, too. Since my Mum, er, isn't around, we handle the cooking ourselves… but you guys obviously know more than we do."

_And not just about cooking_. His gaze flicks over to the Night Fury, who's curled possessively around the other half of the campfire, looking rightfully satisfied—and heavier by half a dozen fish besides. He shivers as he recalls the warmth of the creature's snout, touching his forehead.

It almost makes him angry at his ancestors. After all, they've been fighting dragons for  _seven generations!_  One would think, in all that time,  _someone_  would be smart enough to check if there was an alternative. If Berk had known that dragons didn't need to be fought… so many lives could've been saved. He could still have a Mum.

He sighs, because ultimately he knows his ancestors aren't to blame. A Night Fury befriending humans… just a few eykts ago he would've laughed at the absurdity himself. His father (or any adult on Berk for that matter) would've leapt at the chance to kill a Night Fury—if not for glory previously unheard of in the Annals, then for the more practical reason of eliminating one of the biggest threats in any raid. Hel, he's willing to bet his left leg that his peers would've leapt to kill as well. Astrid, Snotlout, the Twins… even meek mild-mannered Fishlegs. It was the Viking way.

Well, guess that just proves how much of a Viking he's not.

"So, has your Tribe always known?" He chucks his fish bone into the flames. The orange tongues surge for a split second, bolstered by residual grease. "That dragons aren't relentless killers?"

Finn looks at him weirdly. Well,  _extra_ -weirdly. He shares a glance with his sister. There's something in both their lips that could almost pass for smirks.

"That was our dad," the girl—Zephyr—answers this time. "We used to be dragon killers too, but he companioned with a Night Fury, like this one." She pats the young dragon on his rump.

Hiccup lifts his brows, impressed. "So your father can cook  _and_  bond with dragons? Sounds pretty unorthodox for a Viking Chief."

Finn sniggers. "Yup, he's unorthodox all right. He did a lot more than that, though; he united the Tribes and created the League and the Treaty, for one, and designed the Sky Docks on our island, and found the Hid—"

"History!" Zephyr exclaims. The boys jump. "He found, uh, our Tribe's lost historical records." She throws her brother an inscrutable look, and Finn withers. "Also, maybe we should  _stop bragging about our dad_."

"No, no," Hiccup cuts in. "I don't mind. I don't think it's bragging, either," he adds sincerely. "I mean, your father sounds like a great man."

Already he's getting a picture in his mind's eye: a massive fur-cloaked Chieftain towering above his men, waist-long beard tangled into braids that spoke of glory and achievement, with a mighty voice and an even mightier laugh. Only when he tries to put that Chieftain atop a Night Fury does his imagination fail him, and he realizes he was picturing his own father all along.

The siblings are beaming at him. "He is!" they say in unison.

The unabashed pride in their voice ignites a flash of something both unexpected and unpleasant: irritation, inadequacy… jealousy. Briefly, almost spitefully, Hiccup wonders if this foreign Chief is as proud of his children as they are of him, but even as he asks the question he realizes he already has the answer—because what else could it be, when the children's eyes shine whilst talking about their father's exploits, when the corners of their lips twitch up into fond smiles? A dull prodding ache presses against his sternum as he forces himself to reconcile with the fact—the fact that these strangers have the one thing he's been striving for all his life… a father's approval.

He shakes his head, snipping off that train of thought like trimming an unhealthy crop.

"So how did he think to do that anyway? Befriending a dragon, I mean."

The question is half genuine curiosity and half an attempt to distract himself. Fortunately, the siblings appear none the wiser to the epic saga of self-doubt that just played out in his mind.

"I'unno," Finn replies after another shared glance with his sister. "I guess it just happened."

"But  _how?_  I mean, you said you guys used to be dragon killers too, but not only did he not kill a Night Fury, he bonded with it? I mean, Nighty—"

"Toothless," Zephyr corrects him.

Hiccup rolls his eyes. "Right. Yeah, Toothless.  _Anyway_ , I, uh, I spared his life, you know? And in return he spared mine. That's hardcore!" He blushes and decides to leave out the decidedly less-hardcore part where he virtually liquefied onto the ground afterwards. "And even so, he barely lets me touch him!"

To prove his point, he reaches out (for the third time since he's sat down next to the campfire) to try to pat the sleek black scales. When his fingertips are half an inch to their destination, Ni… Toothless, who previously looked to be sleeping, does a small jiggle and moves his tail away.

Hiccup throws his hands up in exaggerated indignance. "See?  _See?_  He's been giving me this silent treatment all evening!"

The siblings snigger.

"Give it time," Zephyr tells him. "He's just not used to you yet! You've gotta remember: we've been with him for a full day, while you pretty much just met him."

"Plus you don't have fish!" her brother pipes up. "We gave him lots of fish. Trout is his favorite!"

"Ugh, I know… you guys just make it look so effortless."

"I guess our dad taught us a lot of tricks," Zephyr shrugs. "Every dragon has its secrets."

Finn grins wide. "And we'll show them all to you!"

"Really? You'll do that?"

Zephyr looks somewhat hesitant at this, but Finn's arm shoots up in a cheer. "Of course!"

Hiccup laughs, buoyed by the easy friendly confidence. He sort of doubts he'll be any good at dragon bonding even with all the tricks in the world, but at least it'll help, right?

He wishes someone could tell him why he wants to pet Toothless so badly. Maybe it's from watching the creature swim and play with a boy much like himself, or maybe it's from witnessing the open affection he has displayed for the siblings. Maybe he just wants to prove to someone,  _anyone_ , that he isn't a failure at everything.

Or maybe it all comes down to that one, singular, magical touch they'd shared earlier; scale against skin, savior to savior, solitude interwoven into the beginnings of something that felt and still feels like it will— _should_ —be more. It's silly, he knows, but he can't shake the deeply nestled hunch that he and the dragon were destined to meet… two kindred souls.

_Aaand now you're just desperate_ , he scoffs.  _Kindred souls. Ha!_   _Wait till Stoick the Vast hears of his son's latest delusion_ …

He winces, but quickly dismisses the thought with a kind of expert ease that can only come from years of practice. After all, his father had been yelling at him since time immemorial, and  _that_  hasn't stopped him from wreaking periodic, unmitigated havoc on the unsuspecting village of Berk. He figures he's already at absolute rock bottom when it comes to any sort of expectations, anyway.

A peal of rolling thunder interrupts his thoughts.

Hiccup looks up, startled. Overhead, the storm has combined with the encroaching darkness to form an impenetrable inky black, where clouds, cliffs, and even trees blend into the all-consuming nothingness. A flash of silver erupts from the depths, heralding the bone-shaking boom that follows moments later. Hiccup jumps, absently noting how Toothless does, too—the dragon's fluff spikes up almost like fur, and his pupils narrow into slits as he bounds away from the campfire and hisses at the sky, like an oversized black cat indignant at being disturbed. The pitter-patter of rain is already resounding in the distance, and Hiccup knows it won't be long before the torrent spreads to them.

"Hey, uh, looks like there's a storm coming. Do you guys wanna—"

"We need to go," Zephyr says. " _Now_."

"—uh, yeah, yup. That's what I was suggesti…" Hiccup trails off and blinks as his mind processed the voice. It wasn't Zephyr who said those words, almost imperious in their urgency. It was Finn.

" _Zeph_ ," the blond boy says again, uncharacteristically forceful. "We  _need_  to go!"

Hiccup looks back. Zephyr has her hands up, looking guilty and conciliatory but determined.

"Finky, I know we just discussed this, but think about it: we could go home right now! Instead of waiting for who-knows-how-long, we can—"

"It's not time yet!" the boy snaps. "It's not, you  _know_  it's not!"

Hiccup is utterly lost. He racks his brain for any snippet of conversation he might've missed that would help him make more sense of the flurry of words, but the harder he tries, the more confused he becomes. 'Not time'? Time for what? 'Go home'? They're from Eretville, which is across the sea, so do they mean they're going to sail again right now? When they have no ship, and in this kind of weather?

"But look at how fast the stormclouds gathered!" Zephyr is saying. "It's just like yesterday, when we got here—what if this is Thor or the gods or whoever made it happen, telling us to go?"

"I don't care," Finn says adamantly. "You promised."

"Finky, come on, you're being unreasonable. I didn't know a storm would come  _today_. You've got to admit it feels a bit like fate is working in our favor, right? And not to mention we—"

"I don't care!" Finn shouts. He limps over to Toothless—who's staring back and forth between the suddenly-belligerent siblings, green pupils still narrow and almost fearful—and hugs the dragon tight. "I don't care," the boy chokes, voice muffled against the black scales.

The Night Fury huffs. While obviously surprised at first by the sudden human boy dangling around his neck, he soon calms down and bends his head, giving the boy's blond fluff a generous lick.

Finn tightens his grip. "I just want him to be okay," he says, small, and even though he's taller and stronger-looking than Hiccup, he appears extraordinarily young.

Zephyr sighs. "Finky, everything is going to be okay. You saw how interested in dragons he is, how willing he is to learn.  _This_ Toothless touched  _him_ , you know, not the other way around; I'm sure everything is in good hands—"

"You don't know that!" Abruptly the boy drops himself from his previous position. He almost stumbles and falls, but rights himself at the last moment. "You know what? If you aren't leaving, then  _I_ am, and you can go home by yourself." He takes a few defiant steps away from the fire and into the gloom. Toothless keens and stands up.

Zephyr leaps to her feet. "No!" she shouts, bounding over to her brother, who shrugs off her attempt to grab his shoulder. " _Nuffink_ , you get back here right now! This is our chance, it could be our  _only_  chance, Thordammit—stop being unreasonable!"

"And  _you_  should stop being a beetle-munching oathbreaker!" he shouts back. "You  _promised_ we'd stay! Come on, Hiccup, help me get out of here."

Hiccup jumps. He's been watching their—exchange? argument? row?—on the sidelines with growing alarm, but wasn't expecting to get involved, the same way he usually keeps his nose out of the Twins' business. This isn't the usual Thorston sibling drama though, with nonsensical arguments about whimsical complaints, which no outsider can understand—not that he understood a word of  _this_  argument, either, but the air between the two still sizzles with emotion. He looks at Zephyr, brows and lips knitted into a scowl, and at Finn, green eyes blazing with determination. He opens his mouth, trying to think of something to say.

And then the sky cracks open, and the rain pours down on them all.

The fat icy droplets have them soaked within heartbeats. Their campfire retreats into the half-burned woodpile like a wounded beast, hissing up a cloud of ash and vapour as it gets pounded into embers. Toothless lets out a low startled noise and covers his head with his wings.

Lightning slices across the darkness.

"Hiccup," Zephyr breathes out, solemn. Her voice rings out, clear and rising above the thunder. "Can you take us to your village?"

"M-my village? Uh, yeah! I was just going to ask you if—"

But she's no longer listening. A terse nod, a thin smile, and her slender form is already next to the fire, soaking a piece of cloth in fish grease. A moment later she brandishes a make-shift torch, made from one of the branches in the pile, her face gaunt as she makes her way over to her brother.

"I'm sorr—" Finn begins.

"No.  _I_  am. I made you a promise." She brushes a strand of wet hair out of his eyes, then reaches behind him to pull up the hood of his fur cloak. "Let's get out of here."

Finn nods and leans his weight on her. She pulls up her own hood, and glances over her shoulders.

"Hiccup?"

Hiccup blushes and scrambles to his feet. "Uh, y-yeah, I—let me… okay, I have my sketchbook, let me just get my charcoal pen and—"

"Leave it. We don't have time."

"Uh, okay." A raindrop hits him next to his eye, and he blinks. "Yeah, probably a good idea to scram."

Zephyr nods.

"Lead the way," she says, weary and uncertain, like she isn't sure if she's making the right decision.  _Afraid_. She takes a deep breath, the sound oddly muted in the din. "We're counting on you."

"Oh. Yeah. Okay. Let's see…"

Even with their torch, the surroundings are becoming more difficult to discern by the minute. Hiccup squints at the blurred scenery in front of them, before he points toward the small ledge where Zephyr 'captured' him this afternoon. "This way."

They make a silent company as they march along, relying only on the torch's waning orange flicker or the occasional lightning from above for illumination. The basin they're in is small, and soon they arrive at a crevice, which leads out into the forests above with a few easy climbs.

Zephyr clambers onto the formation before turning to give Finn a hand.

"You alright there, Hiccup?" she shouts.

Hiccup is, in fact, not alright. He had been about to climb up after them when he felt a small tug. He thought maybe his vest had caught on some jagged rock, but when he turned, he was greeted by a mess of shiny black scales and big emerald eyes. Evidently, the Night Fury followed their trek through the downpour.

Hiccup had forgotten about the dragon, so caught up was he in the sibling's urgency to leave. He looks down, apologetic.

"Sorry, bud, I can't take you back to my village. They'll kill you."

The dragon sniffs and coos. The hem of Hiccup's fur vest is still in his mouth, gripped by his definitely-present-teeth, though the piece of clothing is already damp enough that even a bucket or two of dragon spittle would hardly make a difference.

The storm is gearing up to full force by now, its sounds blending into a continuous rumbling roar. A fine mist hangs close to the ground, created by countless splattering raindrops. Hiccup wonders why the young Fury doesn't just fly away—surely there are some caves nearby, or at least trees with drooping canopies, where more comfort can be found than in a barren cove with nothing between you and the sky. A thunderstorm should be as good a reason as any to crave shelter, even for a nocturnal dragon.

He hears Zephyr calling for him to hurry up.

"C'mon, bud," he hisses, trying to pry the dragon's mouth off his clothes. "Go, uh, fly to somewhere dry. I have to—"

He stops. Toothless is staring at him, irises as green as ever, even in this darkness, and he is reminded of the few fateful moments yesterday before he freed the magnificent animal—when he'd looked into those same eyes… and saw himself.

Helpless. Lonely. Fearful.

Toothless lets out a low mewling keen. And this time, somehow, Hiccup understands.

_Please don't leave me alone_.

His heart drops.

"You can't fly," he blurts. "You—oh. Ooh. It must be your tail."

Gods, he's so stupid. He's been sketching the dragon for a whole afternoon, of  _course_  he's seen the asymmetric tailfin. But Toothless had preferred to stay on the ground, cuddled next to the siblings, and seemed perfectly happy afoot. He'd assumed the dragon didn't  _want_  to fly, not that he  _couldn't_  fly. It's never occurred to him that the dragon might be  _trapped_  here.

And that he is responsible.

"Oh… I'm so,  _so_  sorry," he whispers.

"Hiccup?" Zephyr calls again. "What the Hel are you waiting for?"

"Toothless!" he hollers back, a hand on the dragon's snout for reassurance; what had seemed like an unattainable achievement a moment ago now comes naturally to him. "What about Toothless?"

"What?" he hears Zephyr shout back. "Hiccup, come on, we don't have time!"

"We'll be back," Finn adds. "Promise! But we need to go.  _Please!_ "

Their voices are muffled by distance and thunder and rain. Hiccup tries to tell them that he can't, that he has to stay here, but they don't hear him. Soon their torchlight disappears behind the rocky outcrop, plunging him into a world of dim blue and grey.

He cannot explain the sorrow that blindsides him.  _I'll be back_ , he tells himself. "I'll be back," he tells the dragon, who only licks him.

Hiccup has never been licked by a dragon.

"I'm sorry," he cries, bending forward to put his weight on the scales. "I'm sorry I shot you down, I'm sorry I'm leaving you… I-I have to go."

When he finally tears himself away, it doesn't feel like he's escaping from a dangerous beast that can snipe down a catapult from hundreds of feet away.

It feels like he's leaving behind a friend.

* * *

The hike back to Berk proper is short but brutal. In the storm, every unassuming feature of the normally-benevolent forest becomes filled with malice—falling branches, tumbling rocks, unseen potholes and tangled roots. The stubborn little torch lights barely two feet ahead of them, and with Finn's bad foot, he and Zephyr take turns to act as a crutch or stepping stone, whichever the situation calls for. Lightning strikes intersperse their harrowing journey, brilliant white, long enough to blind but too brief to see by, with each flash causing them to hold their breath in preparation for the inevitable boom of Mjolnir's blow.

All three are gasping for air and drenched to the bone when they round the final hill, when at long last the sentinel statues barrel into view, along with houses and breathing smoke-shafts and glowing windows. In the distance, the soaring gates to the Meade Hall stand gaunt and imposing, carved into the cliff-face and illuminated by the gargantuan braziers blazing on despite the rain.

Hiccup leads the siblings through the path he took when he snuck out, weaving in and out of roads of packed mud and sometimes rudimentary paving, darting between houses with their garish dragon roofs. At long last they reach the back entrance of his house and tumble inside with a collective, exhausted sigh.

"My humble abode," Hiccup mutters, once he catches his breath. He shrugs off his fur vest, completely soaked through, and makes his way to the cold hearth in semi-darkness. A few gropes and his fingers close around the tinderbox. The numbness in his limbs makes the daily task a monumental struggle, but finally sparks start flying off the fire-steel, and several more tries later, the hearth springs to life.

Hiccup allows himself a tiny worn-out smile. "Come on," he beckons his impromptu guests, "you guys should warm yourselves up."

The siblings nod and shuffle closer. They follow his example and peel their cloaks off, then plop themselves on the floor next to the fire, letting out two satisfied moans.

Now that they're safe and warm, Hiccup finds his mind drifting back to the hunched, lonesome silhouette at the edge of the cove, already burned into his memory. His chest aches at the mere image.

This morning when he set out towards Raven Point, he'd expected to find nothing—or, at the very most, some tracks or other evidence to prove he hadn't been dreaming… to prove he'd truly caught (and freed) a dragon.

He did not expect to meet said dragon.

He did not expect to touch said dragon.

And he sure as frosted Hel did  _not_  expect to...  _care_.

The Night Fury's helpless keen reverberates in his head, making him want to bash his skull against a rock. Supposedly that straightens you right out—Dad swears by it, after all—which might be just what he needs.  _Wham_ , and his brain is reformed into something simpler, sturdier, all bashing and killing and wrangling. Something that doesn't care about a flightless dragon in a storm.

He wonders if Toothless is safe. 'Thor strikes only those who dare reach for Asgard', or so the saying goes—and the Night Fury is at the bottom of a basin surrounded by tall trees. But even if lightning isn't a problem, the storm might hurl any number of objects down into the cove, where even a stray branch might cause serious damage. And then there's the storm itself—dragons never raid during storms, so this may very well be the first time Toothless is forced to experience one.

_He must be afraid_ , Hiccup thinks, as his heart gives a painful lurch. He feels stricken with guilt and worry both—a list of them flood over him, everything he wishes to know and does not:  _Will I see him again? Will he be angry at me? Will he still be there when I go back? Will he know I'm sorry?_

_Will he be okay?_

"He will," Zephyr says soothingly.

Hiccup jolts. He wasn't even aware he'd said anything out loud, but the remnants of his muttered question lingers just under his tongue. He stares at her.

"Dragons are sturdy," she explains, taking his silence as doubt. "Their scales are fireproof and water-tight, and even in a blizzard, they can keep themselves warm by toasting the ground."

"Oh." Hiccup blinks. "But… but what about the thun—"

"Night Furies have a special affinity for lightning," she says breezily. "It's as much their element as rock and stone are a Gronckle's. Trust me."

"But he… but how can you be sure? How do you know?"

She snorts. "Our father bonded with one, remember? Plus, if Vikings can survive one stormy night just fine, a dragon can, too." She leans forward to touch him on the arm, the gesture unexpectedly tender. "You don't need to worry."

Hiccup blows out a sigh, tension draining from his muscles. He still worries, of course, as one is wont to do for a friend (even if the title seems almost absurd and entirely undeserved in afterthought), but her words still manage to assuage the most irrational parts of his fears. The guilt lingers nonetheless, along with the desire to be close again—to be in that small, magical place where time almost stands still, where he will feel the smooth supple scales against his palm once more; where he can apologize properly this time.

"I want to go see him," he says to her, half plea and half declaration.

"You will," she assures him.

" _We_  will," her brother adds. "Tomorrow, after the storm, once we build—uhm." He scratches his head, sheepish. "The point is, we'll go. All three of us. Okay?"

Hiccup nods. "Okay."

The siblings grin at him, and suddenly his gratitude bottles up into something more, a dense little thing lodged in his throat.

"Thanks," he manages to whisper. The syllable is lost in the crackle of the hearth, but he thinks that's okay.

For a long while, the three of them stay in that position, faces rosy with flickering orange, listening to the tranquil, almost-somniferous chorus of splatters and pops: the water outside and the fire inside, waxing and waning as their hair and tunics dry.

"Nice house," Zephyr remarks quietly, breaking the languorous silence.

"It's smaller than I imagined," Finn mutters. "The stories make it seem—"

He stops when he catches a tired glare from his sister.

"He was talking about some of the stories we've heard about other Chieftain homes," she explains. "Not  _this_  home in particular, of course, which would've been absurd. Anyway"—she smiles, tired and terse but genuine—"this is a beautiful home."

Hiccup's mind kind of freezes. All he sees are her cerulean eyes, darkened by dusk but still as radiant as the midnight sun, reminding him of something powerful and fierce and just plain  _awesome_. The hearthfire dances in her auburn hair, blazing twilight, and he has to force himself to look away because if not, he's sure he'll just keep staring until Ragnarok.

"Uh, t-thanks," he stammers, cheeks steaming. "It's pretty m-messy, though." He flushes harder as he looks around—haphazard heaps of shields and weaponry are scattered around the room, with worn clothes strewn atop them and each other, and on the bench a little ways over sit dirty plates that he let pile up with no one here to nag him about it. Ugh, he  _knew_ Dad's dogged refusal to hire a part-time cleaner would come around to bite him.

Zephyr shakes her head. When she speaks, her voice is soft, almost wondrous.

"I don't see a mess. Only history."

Hiccup blinks, putting aside his embarrassment. It's an odd thing to say when first entering someone's home, and stranger when you consider the fact that every building on Berk, aside from the Meade Hall, is less than three years old.

He forces out an awkward laugh. "Uh. History? A history of reptilian arson, maybe."

She shakes her head again, but doesn't explain. "So… do you live alone here?"

"For the moment, yeah."

"For the moment?"

"Yeah. I live with my dad, but he's not here, and won't be for a while."

"I see." He thinks he hears the tiniest sign of relief in her exhale, but it might just be the storm. "And where's Gr—I mean, where did your father go?"

Hiccup rolls his eyes. "Where else? Out at sea, trying to find this Dragon Nest of his. I swear, he's more obsessed with that place than Gobber is with his belt buckle—that's my Master, by the way, even if I don't want to admit it sometimes. He's  _really_  obsessed with that belt buckle, which was why I mentioned him, but you don't know him so you don't get it and I think I should shut up now." He hangs his head and half-considers jumping into the flames. "Erm. Anyway, Dad's gone," he finishes lamely, "so you guys are free to stay here for the time being. We can figure something out when he comes back."

"Huh. Thanks." Then she sucks in her lips, like biting back hesitation and longing and curiosity. When she next speaks, her voice is uncharacteristically timid. "I would… it would be nice if I could meet him."

He tilts his head. "Meet…? Oh. Meet Dad?"

She nods. "I don't know if he'll be back in time before we, uh. But yeah. That's something I'd like to do." She smiles, looking almost flustered, before adding quickly: "To thank him for his hospitality, of course."

Hiccup gives her a weird look. "Personally I wouldn't be so eager, but you do you I guess. Gotta warn you though, he's not much fun to be around—not that he's around very often. Always surly and disappointed, trying his best to treat me like I'm an inconvenient cloud of fog. I haven't seen him smile in years." He sighs. "Sometimes I wonder if we really  _are_  related."

"I'm sure he's proud of you," Zephyr declares, too quick and confident for his liking. "Besides, he's the Chief! And chiefing is harder than it looks." She sighs, slumping just a tad. "Believe me, I would know."

"Proud?" His tongue flicks disdainfully to form the 'd'. "Yeah, no. Not my dad. I'm just too much of… you know. Nobody would ever expect  _I'm_  the son of a Chieftain, let alone—" he stops, brows squeezing together as his thoughts snag like knitted wool on thorn. "Hold up. How… how did you know my dad's the Chief? I never told you that."

Zephyr's eyes widen. Next to her, Finn lets out an audible gasp. Hiccup's frown deepens.

"Uhh," she begins, "you, uh, you told us."

"No, I didn't. I would've remembered. Plus, you also called our house a 'Chieftain home'."

"Oh, did I? Well it was an educated guess. It's one of the biggest houses around, and very close to the Meade Hall."

"It didn't sound like a guess to me."

"Well, it was, believe it or not."

"Right…" Hiccup drawls, narrowing his eyes. "That still doesn't explain why you know about Dad being Chief."

She ignores the skepticism dripping from his tone. "You told us," she repeats, resolute. "You just forgot about it. Right, Finky?" She nudges her brother, who begins to nod vigorously like some lever-controlled mechanism. "See, you  _did_  tell us."

Hiccup almost wants to laugh. They're hiding something, they  _have_  to be—when he suggests as much, Zephyr turns chalk pale, her freckles jumping out in stark relief, the most shaken she has been in the short time he's known her; and her brother is even worse, fidgeting and twitching like a lice-infested cat.

But  _what?_  He has the distinct feeling that  _something_  is a bit flimsy, but no matter how many times he examines and reexamines their story, he can't seem to find any outright contradictions. Everything holds up under scrutiny.  _Shipwrecked?_  Plausible, what with the frequent summer storms and dragon raids.  _Eretville?_  Berkians simply haven't explored enough of the Archipelago for him to judge, though he wishes they have.  _Chief Eret being their father?_  Also plausible—the siblings do appear to be high-born, with nice clothes and fine weapons, and Zephyr especially carries herself with confidence and authority.

_Their father bonding with a Night Fury?_  Now that one's a total no-brainer. After everything he's witnessed today… it has  _got_  to be fact.

None of this answers his original questions, though—like how they know he's the Chief's son, or how they know, so casually, that they're staying in a Chief's home. What are they trying to accomplish by hiding that knowledge? Could they really have deduced it from all the details in his house? He bites his lower lip, pensive—he distinctly remembers something  _else_  that Zephyr had said, a few eykts ago, back when he still thought her delusional. She'd said a great many odd things back then, but there was one phrase that stood out in particular, a blaring signal that tells him she knows a  _lot_  more than she lets on, so if he could just—

Berk. Earlier today, she'd said  _Berk_. She'd called it  _Old_  Berk, which was weird, but she obviously understood where she was. Understands where she is.

Hiccup rubs his chin, just as another bout of lightning announces its presence through their slitted window. Could it be that their Tribe, this  _Eretville_ , had already visited Berk in the past? That explains why the siblings know about Dad and the Chieftain's House, but he's sure he'd remember a visit like that. And why would they hide it? It makes no sense, unless they have some alternate agenda, which he's just too tired to even attempt to figure out at the moment.

_Maybe they're something more than human_ , he thinks absently. Zephyr for one certainly has the makings of a Huldra (though obviously she isn't because her brother isn't some hideous monster)—captivating him as easy as honey trapping flies. Hiccup winces as he recalls his pitiful display all afternoon, blushing whenever she so much as looks him in the eye, spellbound. Hel, just some moments ago, she'd basically turned him into a draugr with her smile… gawking and stuttering, about two seconds away from drooling.

_Maybe they're Álfar,_  he muses.  _The Elfin folk_. They sure look the part—both are tall and lithe and strong, brimming with youth and energy, and even the most critical observer would say they're objectively beautiful. Elves are good at spells, or so the legends say. Good with animals, too, which would explain the siblings' knack with dragons. If Gobber's right about trolls, a couple of elves wandering around Berk shouldn't be too far-fetched. Perhaps they're just here to steal everyone's socks… the right ones.

He shoves the mental image away before a laugh escapes. It strikes him how remarkably relaxed he is—laughter should be the last logical reaction to two strangers with a shady backstory currently sitting at his hearth, yet he's as calm as Gothi after a batch of her gothi-shrooms. Curious? Definitely. Alarmed? Not at all.

_It's the aura_ , he thinks. Aura, hunch, vibe; whatever you call it. Perhaps he's being naive, but he just cannot,  _cannot_  detect any iota of malice in the two. They weren't exactly courteous at first, he'll admit, but later on when all three of them were sitting around the fire and eating their nightmeal, conversing easily—and even just now when they reassured him over Toothless—there's an unmistakable sort of…  _something_ , something soft and warm and shaped like friendship. He's sensed it in the way they treated him, talked to him, looked at him—Camaraderie? Trust? Affection, even?

Whatever it is, it isn't ill will.

He wants to trust them, he realizes abruptly. Maybe it has to do with the inherent closeness he's felt ever since he's set eyes on them, or maybe it has to do with the warm ordinary familiarity he thinks he sees in their features, in Zephyr's hair and Finn's eyes. Maybe it has to do with Toothless, with how much they obviously care about the dragon's welfare. And sure, maybe they're a bit sketchy, and maybe they have their own goals, but they mean no harm, and he thinks he can trust them.

And that's enough for the time being.

Hiccup blinks and refocuses on the two. Zephyr is in full orator mode, yammering on about how he must have forgotten what he told them, and how his house is so plainly suitable for a Chieftain, he can't fault her for making the right guess. And how they are definitely, definitely  _not_  hiding anything.

"You're right, perhaps I  _did_  mention my dad," he concedes, knowing he didn't. "I guess I'm more tired than I thought." He hides a private smirk when the siblings visibly exhale, posture softening as they slump backwards, shoulders sloping once more.

"Told you so!" Zephyr chuckles, a bit too giddily. "And, uh, yeah. We're pretty exhausted ourselves. We've been through, you know, quite a lot! Maybe you can show us where we might rest up?" She gives her brother a quick glance, and Finn yawns dramatically.

Hiccup doesn't even bother calling out the act. He's already grown used to these nonverbal exchanges, as much a part of their communication as words and phrases. For a moment he finds himself a little envious… what would it be like to have a brother or sister? Someone who can understand you, guide you? Maybe he would've been less useless growing up, less of a failure.

He chides himself for being silly. "Sure," he tells her, standing up with a pop in his knees. "Let me find some furs, and you guys can sleep by the hearth here."

"Sounds great." She flashes him one of her annoyingly captivating smiles, which prompts him to make a hasty retreat in the direction of their storage closets. "You should rest up, too!" she calls from behind him. "You're coming with us to see Toothless again, right?"

"Yeah!" he shouts over his shoulders, unable to control the surge of eagerness in his voice. "When are we leaving? I mean, it's no hurry, and you guys know him better anyway, but I was thinking maybe I can go down to the Storehouse to grab a bucket of fish, you know?" He rummages in their too-big and too-dusty closet before fishing out two battered pelts. "Uh, these might not smell that great," he hollers, wrinkling his nose to stifle a sneeze.

"As long as it doesn't smell like yaknog!" comes the reply. Hiccup is about to ask them what a yaknog is, when a colossal  _bang_  from the front door resounds through the house.

For several heartbeats he goes right into Raid-mode, which has him throwing down the furs and scurrying to grab a shield. It takes a peal of thunder to remind him that Berk is safe for tonight.

"Hiccup?" three people call out at once.

"Oh, lort," Hiccup mutters. He snatches the furs from the ground and races toward the front door. "Uh, uhm, I'm here, I'm here, don't—"

The lumbering shadow of Gobber the Belch strides into the firelight.

"Oh thank Thor yer safe laddie," the blacksmith cries once he spots his apprentice. Hiccup thinks he hears one of the siblings (Finn, probably) squeal " _Oh my gods! It's Great-uncl—_ " before Gobber makes quick work of the distance between them, wooden peg-leg clunking against the floor, and envelopes him into a suffocating hug. "Ye didn't show up to nightmeal—we were reading the Book of Dragons to prepare ye fer t'morrow—figured ye wouldn't miss it fer anything, so when ye didn't show, and with this weather, I was gettin' worried—"

"Uh," Hiccup says, muffled and trying to get himself loose, "thanks for worrying about me—"

"Oh no, not fer you! 'S purely fer logistical reasons." The blacksmith ruffles his hair. "An apprentice is so hard to come by nowadays, hehehe. An'way, I brought it if ye want ta read." He finally lets go of his charge—Hiccup leaps at the opportunity to gulp down air untainted by Gobber's armpit stench—and triumphantly fishes out a sopping parchment tome.

"Here it is! The Book of—"

The ancient manuscript drops from his hand onto the floor with a wet squelch. Hiccup scrambles out of his Master's death grip and throws his scrawny self in between the two parties, a futile attempt to shield the siblings from view.

"— _Who_  in Odin's arse are  _you two?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. The Vikings ate 2 meals a day, the daymeal and the nightmeal, roughly equivalent to our breakfast and dinner.
>   2. A Huldra is a kind of forest nymph/forest siren in Scandinavian folklore. They protect the forest and can seduce men for their own goals. Females are said to be exceedingly beautiful, but males are hideous and troll-like.
>   3. A Draugr is a reanimated corpse in Scandinavian folklore. Basically a zombie.
>   4. Join the A Thing of Vikings HTTYD fanserver on Discord! invite/xVuZfK2
> 



End file.
